CSI: Ark
by MoonMadKitty
Summary: Oh no! Someone's murdered Bluestreak! Well, not really No problem, Jazz is on the case! Can he solve the Murder Mystery before Prowl forces him to attend staff meetings for the rest of the month? COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

"I bet you it was the big guy."

Jazz threw a sly, amused look towards the other side of the couch in the Ark's Rec Room. He'd been surprised –pleasantly so- to find company for his late nights in front of the TV, watching CSI in any of the show's many variations. His company had grown to include a rolling roster, and at the moment covered Hound, Mirage, Tracks and –of all people- Prowl. Jazz wasn't even sure quite what Prowl liked about the bottomless camp and technical make-believe of the show, but for all appearances the SIC was enjoying himself enough to wave a dismissive hand at Track's comment. Track's had an astonishing ability to pick the guilty party: he consistently failed. Jazz, who'd been about to render the same verdict, knew that he could now swear to Big Guy's innocence in front of Primus himself.

"Nah, it was the femme." Hound stretched lazily.

"It's always the femme with you." Mirage threw him a half-exasperated, half amused look.

"What d'ya think, Prowl?" Hound asked the SIC.

Prowl frowned. "It just started. I cannot render a verdict with so little evidence." He pointed at the screen. "The way in which this Horatio Caine person solves crimes makes no sense at all to begin with."

"He does get results, though", Jazz teased, rousing to the defense of his favorite character.

"In under an hour, too", Mirage added, grinning at Jazz.

"He does so because the show requires him to do so." Prowl leaned back. "Real crime-solving requires time, due process and, most of all, reason. Not…" He threw an amused look at Jazz. "Gut feeling."

"Can't be harder than kicking 'con aft day in and day out", Tracks remarked.

"Guys, guys, you're missing the point." Jazz pointed at the screen. "If you love your job, you get good at it. Do it long enough, you become the best. I mean, sure, the guy can't bust the criminals up –and you know he wants to- but he can bust them. Reason and time and experience are just… accessories."

Prowl leveled a very calm look on him. "The only reason he gets results without logic is because someone somewhere has written that he should do so. Surely you can see that."

Jazz spread his hands, saying nothing.

"You are telling me you agree with Tracks? You think real crime-solving is easy?"

"I'm just sayin' with the right attitude, gut feeling's just as good as logic."

"Oh?" Prowl lowered his head minutely. "Would you be willing to wager on that?"

The other three Autobots turned simultaneously, and the room was silent for a moment except for the TV. Jazz shrugged helplessly. "Well, it's not like it's rainin' dead bodies 'round here, Prowl. Can't solve a murder without someone bein' murdered an' all."

"Actually, you can." They all turned to look at Tracks, who shifted uncertainly. "There's this thing humans have, it's called Murder Mystery Theater. It's like… going to the show, being there. You know everyone's acting, but they're putting up the act for your benefit. And you have to solve… the murder. Of someone."

Prowl cocked his head and then, very slowly, turned to look at Jazz. For a brief moment, Jazz wondered if he was taking on more than he could deal with. Then he grinned crookedly at the SIC. "Bring it."

"I will." They could all but hear Prowl's CPU whirring. "But… I have conditions that must be met."

Jazz leaned back, the very picture of confidence. "Shoot."

"You will select a team of… CSIs. A small team."

"Five."

"Three."

"Even Caine has four, not counting the Examiner."

"Already with the concessions", Mirage teased, to a mock-glare from the Intelligence Officer.

"Four will be alright. You'll need all the help you can get." Prowl smiled thinly. "And I will know who they are tomorrow by the end of the first shift, at the latest, so that they might be kept entirely in the dark."

"Ahhh, clever mech."

"Second, this will in no way interfere with the normal operation of the Ark."

Jazz nodded. That was a given.

"Third, you will have exactly twenty-four hours to solve the crime from the moment it is discovered."

"Eeesh. Didn't you say you need time to solve real crimes?"

"Yes, I did. And I believe you countered that Caine's method, gut feeling and bluff, make such things as time and due process moot." Jazz muttered something unintelligible under his breath, much to the amusement of the other Autobots in the room. "Now, I believe wagers require stakes. If you cannot solve the crime, you will show up punctually for the last meeting of the day for the next… twenty-four days. And you will be on your best behavior during said meetings."

Jazz whined audibly. "Fine! But if I win, I'm excused from those meetings for a full twenty-four days."

Prowl didn't even hesitate. He offered his hand in time-honored fashion. "Agreed."

And Jazz began to feel just a teeny tiny bit worried. But what the heck, there was nothing else going on, he was bored out of his mind, and this promised to be much too much fun. "You're on!"

----------

Jazz was up bright and early the next morning, and as he moved down the corridors of the Ark he got enough grins and nods that he realized word had spread like the literal wildfire. He poked his head into the Med Bay first. "Mornin', Ratchet."

"No."

Jazz paused. "No, what no?", he asked perplexed.

The CMO, at the moment digging at the underside of one of the medical berths, lifted his head just enough to glare at the Porsche. "I mean no, I am not joining your deranged idea of fun."

"I just came to see if First Aid was around."

"First Aid?" That was enough to get Ratchet to come out and sit down on the floor, looking perplexed.

"Yah. You've seen him?"

First Aid and Swoop were ferrying supplies to bring to Med Bay. Swoop smiled brightly when he saw Jazz come into the cargo bay, and Jazz grinned back. "Mornin', Swoop. You've heard, haven't you?"

"Oh yes. Me Swoop hear all about it." The Dinobot lifted another crate on top of his pile. "Him Mirage hiding outside", he said quietly with a conspiratorial grin.

"Ahhh, 'fraidy cat." Jazz grimaced; he'd hoped to get Mirage, among others, but then realized what Swoop had just said, and grinned. "Would you like to help, Swoop?"

The Dinobot looked startled. "Me Swoop help? Investigate, like CSI?"

Jazz' brows shot upwards. "You watch the show?"

"Oh, yes, we Dinobots all watch. Me Swoop like Vegas better. Him Slag like Miami, and him Grimlock like all shows." He set his crates down and thought about it for a moment before nodding. "Me Swoop happy to help."

They shook hands. "Glad t' have ya, Swoop. You wouldn't know where Hound is, would you?"

"Yes. Him Hound with him Prowl all morning."

"Ahhh, slag it. So he's probably with the enemy. Any thoughts?"

Swoop stared at the crates. "Me Swoop not sure. Need Autobots that think, but also need big police person." Suddenly they met each other's optics in shock and amusement.

"You talk to him, I'll go see if Perceptor and Blaster feel like havin' a bit o' fun."

Swoop grinned mischievously.

----------

Jazz came to Prowl's office in time to see Sunstreaker step out. For once, however, the tall golden warrior didn't look like he'd just been verbally shot at – in fact, as he looked at Jazz and nodded a greeting, he looked decidedly… smug.

Slag, Jazz thought. This was one alliance he didn't want to even consider the possibility of. He stepped into Prowl's office, who looked up from a data slate. "Yes?"

"Got my team."

"Let's hear this." Prowl leaned his elbows on his desk, the very picture of attention.

"Swoop –"

"Good choice."

"Perceptor…" When Prowl had no comment for that, he continued. "Trailbreaker… Since Hound mentioned he's going to be awfully 'busy' for a while now." He glowered at the SIC.

"Pity that", Prowl said mildly.

"And Sideswipe. But I figured we oughtta decide on a coupla people together."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, Ratchet all but kicked me out of Med Bay, so we're short an Examiner –"

"First Aid will be filling that post", Prowl informed him smoothly.

Jazz felt once again on quicksand. As usual, he decided to leap forward. "And we need some police support."

Prowl frowned at him. "That would be my job, no?"

"No! You're the one plannin' this whole thing t' begin with!"

Prowl sighed in exasperation. "Fine. Who do you want?"

Jazz smiled. "Grimlock."

----------

News of the upcoming battle of wits made the rounds, time and again, among the crew of the Ark. Most Autobots who hadn't watched the shows gave them a cursory glance at least, so they'd know what the grapevine buzz was about. Meanwhile, Jazz's team waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

"It's a stall tactic." Jazz tried to soothe Trailbreaker, who was getting almost as twitchy as Sideswipe. "Edgy mechs make mistakes. That's what Prowl's hopin' for."

Trailbreaker was easy enough to soothe, and Swoop was holding up remarkably well, keeping himself occupied by keeping Grimlock from charging up to Prowl's office and shaking the SIC. Perceptor apparently didn't care, and Jazz wouldn't have been surprised to find he didn't even remember he'd been included in this little exercise. Sideswipe, however, was threatening to throttle his twin on a twice-daily basis, and it didn't help that Sunstreaker looked unspeakably smug whenever he crossed the path of one of the would-be Autobot CSIs. For that matter, if Blaster decided to play the CSI: Miami theme one more time when Jazz walked by him on the Ark's corridors, the Porsche thought he might well forget all about his talks on patience and strangle him. Somehow, the Murder Mystery had managed to get almost every Autobot in location involved, with expected exceptions. Jazz knew Red Alert was still hysterically opposing the whole thing, and Ratchet had sworn he'd personally have choice 'words' for anyone who got hurt during this whole 'glitched scheme'. Prime had voiced no opinion on the matter, but he was the only one. The rest of the crew more or less seemed willing to go along, if not outrightly help Jazz and his crew. He kept monitoring the shift assignments, thinking that perhaps Prowl was waiting for a time when all the selected Autobots were free, but two more days went by with not so much as a peep from the SIC. On the third day, after having returned from patrol to more of the no-news-is-good-news quiet of the Ark, Jazz downed his energon, shrugged and went to sleep.

It was barely morning –he would make sure to murder Prowl eventually for that, Jazz promised himself later that day- when something crashed against the door to his quarters with a tremendous 'whoomp!'. "Jazz! JAZZ!" Bumblebee yelled from the hallway.

The Intelligence Officer nearly fell off his berth as he struggled to wake up and walk, more or less simultaneously. He found the door by touch, groaning tiredly, rubbing at his face as he opened it. "'Bee, what the hell –"

The young Autobot had apparently sprinted all the way from parts unknown to Jazz's quarters and he'd skid against the door instead of knocking on it. His optics were blazing and wide. "Hurry!"

"Whu-huh?"

Bumblebee shifted from foot to foot, and Jazz had to wonder how the younger Autobot managed to look both terrified and eager all in one go. "It's Bluestreak. In the Rec Room."

"With the candlestick?" Jazz added acidly.

"No. He's been shot."


	2. Chapter 2

Jazz paused at the door and glared at Prowl behind his visor as he finished sending out the coded radio call to assemble his 'troops'. Leaning carefully against the wall of the Rec Room, the SIC simply nodded politely. Jazz turned to his over-eager escort. "Stay out here, 'Bee."

"Aw, but –"

"Stay." Jazz stepped into the Rec Room, speaking into his radio. _Swoop?_

_Me Swoop and him Grimlock coming!_, was the immediate reply. Even more reassuring was the distant, thunderous echo of the two Dinobots closing in at full gallop.

For the moment, Jazz turned to simply absorb the scene before him, and had to admit Prowl had gone to great pains to set it up. The TV was on, but the couch had been upended as, likely, Bluestreak tried to scramble away from his attacker. The gunner's body laid on the floor in a pool of fluids, a blackened crater over his torso and another through his cranium. Jazz crouched down over it, feeling a well of unease and a frantic desire to call the real Bluestreak and make sure he was OK…. He peered carefully at Prowl. _Blue?_

_Ummmm… yes?_

Jazz hid a smile._ You Ok?_

_Oh, yes, I am, I mean, I know I'm not supposed to be, I'm supposed to be dead and all, but I'm not, I mean, it's not for real. Do you know how long this'll take? My left doorwing's all bent under my back._

"I took the liberty of calling our Examiner." Prowl's voice was very quiet. "He should be here momentarily."

"Hmph." Jazz kept his hands firmly to himself. Outside he heard Trailbreaker come to an abrupt halt, and a moment later gasp loudly. "Trail? You Ok out there?"

Trailbreaker came into the Rec Room, eyes wide and glued on Bluestreak's body. He flinched visibly. "Um, y-yeah. W-what happened?"

"That's our job t' find out, remember?"

"Oh. Oh!" Something seemed to clear from Trailbreaker's optics at that. "Oh, right. Sorry. Um, what do you want me to do?"

"Map out the room. I want to be able to walk through it any time I want. And remember not to touch anything yet."

"Right." Behind Trail, Jazz could see Bumblebee trying to peer in, only to squawk in dismay as the sizable bulwark of Grimlock planted himself in front of the door and muttered something. Several voices replied in dismay. Swoop slipped into the Rec Room and crouched by Jazz. "What we do now?"

"We wait."

_Jazz?_ It was Sideswipe, out on patrol with his brother. _Don't tell me –_

Oh, yeah.

_What, now? Of all times, NOW?_ If anything, the Lamborghini sounded royally ticked off at missing the start of things. _Slaggit…_

_What's your ETA?_

_I'm stuck on patrol until the end of the shift. What's happening?_

_Someone shot Bluestreak._

_No kidding? Awesome! We'll just get him to blab who it was -_

_No cheatin', 'Sides!_

_Aww, c'mon…_

"Excuse me. Excuse me!" First Aid sounded distinctly peeved as he made his way past the ever-growing crowd gathering at the entrance to the Rec Room.

"Let 'im in, Grim." Jazz motioned to the Dinobot, who stepped aside, glowering at everyone as if daring them to try to make it past him in that brief moment.

"What's the big idea – Oh, for Primus' sake, Prowl." First Aid apparently had gotten as much sleep as Jazz had, and leveled a cool glare at Prowl. "Now?"

"Crime's hardly ever convenient", the SIC replied calmly.

"C'mon, Aid." Jazz smiled winningly at the young medic.

"Oh, fine." He knelt by Bluestreak. "Good grief, what a mess." He paused momentarily, shook his head and threw a quick look at Prowl –

- as if, Jazz thought, trying to remember his lines. He hid a grin. "So, what's the verdict?"

First Aid leaned forward to run a suspiciously silent scanner over the gunner. "He's dead."

"What killed him, I mean?"

"Are you asking me to guess? I haven't even looked at him!"

Jazz sighed, aware his twenty-four hours were ticking away steadily. "Theorize, Aid."

First Aid put away the scanner and ran gentle hands over the dead body. The 'dead body' promptly twitched and giggled. "Hush, you!" Aid rapped him on the forehead.

"Sorry, tickles", Bluestreak whispered.

"Stay dead, Blue." Jazz was trying not to chortle. "Aid?"

"Well, if you want my opinion, it was this." He pointed at the vastly gaping wound on Bluestreak's chest. "Close range, from something very, very powerful. Nicked the core, almost instantaneous death. Pretty nice marksmanship, too. This shot, overkill." He pointed to the head wound.

"Or maybe him killer not want us see him Bluestreak's memory banks", Swoop said quietly.

"I believe that." Jazz rocked back on his heels. "Anything else you can tell us, Aid?"

"Not yet. I have to do an… autopsy first." He ran the unusual word out slowly. In their war-torn world, the causes of a mech's death were usually too blatant to warrant an investigation, but obviously the young medic was finally swinging into the idea of it all.

"How long'll that take?" Almost as soon as he'd asked the question Jazz saw a thin smile curl up the corners of Prowl's mouth. Yeah, smile while you can, he thought, fighting down the urge to shake Bluestreak for information.

"I should have it done before I go on shift." First Aid gave his 'dead body' a pat and they all straightened up. "Shall I call you when I have more information?"

"Please do. I'll send Perceptor and Swoop over, if that's Ok?"

Again First Aid looked at Prowl, who shrugged minutely. "I don't see why not. Do you need the body here?"

Jazz looked at Swoop, who shook his head. "Nah, we're good."

"Then I'll get started. Come on, dead body." First Aid lent a hand to Bluestreak, who promptly jumped up, wincing as the errant doorwing unkinked against his back, and smiled brightly at everyone. He went out to acclaim from, it sounded like, half the population of the Ark.

"Swoop", Jazz said quietly. "Take some samples from those fluids and have a look at 'em with Perceptor. Maybe the gun the killer used has some sort o' particular energy signature." Outside, several people were apparently admiring the gunner's gaping wounds, and for once everyone seemed happy to listen to him chattering on at light speed. That, Jazz thought, ought to make Hound happy. He'd detected no scent of ozone, which led him to believe that rather than physically mimic the wound Prowl had opted for a faster, and much more accurate, solution. He couldn't for the life of him figure out where the Jeep was hiding, though. "Trail, how you doin'?"

"Almost done", the SUV replied from the back of the Rec Room. "You did say the whole room, right?"

"Yah." Jazz stood up and walked up to the door, turning around to stare at the scene once again, trying to etch it in his mind, trying to figure out if there were anything he was missing. He moved back into the room towards the upended couch and crouched down by it.

"Not so easy when the camera doesn't point out the glaringly obvious, is it?", Prowl asked in a quiet breath behind him.

"Are you taunting me, Prowl?" He looked up with a smirk.

"Primus forbid." The SIC stepped back politely. "Please go on."

In truth, all Jazz could see was what he'd already guessed at: Blue had been watching TV. Someone else had come in. A gun had shown up. Blue had tried scrambling back and had been shot. The impact had driven him over the couch, upending it, and then the killer had moved closer and shot him again. He rather thought Swoop had it right, it had been done so they couldn't access Blue's memory banks, which would have been too easy. So what was Blue doing in the Rec Room at unholy o'clock in the morning, watching… -he turned to the TV- Cartoon Network? Likely meeting his killer. "Grim!"

Grimlock poked his head into the room. "What you Jazz want?", he asked politely.

"I want t' talk to every Autobot who was up and about between 0200 an' now. Talk with Prowl t' fix it up."

"Where you want them?"

Jazz scratched at his forehead. "Don't I have an office?", he asked Prowl.

"Not that you've ever bothered to use it."

"Well, I'm usin' it now."

"No gut-feeling guesses?"

Jazz made a mocking gesture at the SIC. "Hey Tracks!", he hollered, having recognized one of the voices outside.

"Yeah?", the Corvette replied from a sudden and profound silence.

"Who do you think did it?"

"How the frag should I know?"

"Make a guess!"

Another silence, this time full of whispers and quiet chuckles. "That's a hard one. I'm sure most everyone's wanted to kill Blue at some point -"

"Hey!", the 'dead body' complained loudly, to much chuckling, including his own.

"But, if I had to guess, I'd say… urm… He's out on patrol, never mind. Oh, shut up", Tracks muttered to the snickers being directed at him. "I dunno", he admitted at last after another long silence. "Prowl?"

There was much hooting at that, and the four Autobots in the room crossed amused looks. Jazz clapped Prowl on the shoulder. "Well, guess you're as good as innocent."

"If previous experience is to stand", Prowl replied mildly.

"I'm done." Trailbreaker came to stand by Jazz. "I mapped the whole room out, it's all uploaded to Teletraan on a secure file."

"Swoop?" Jazz turned to the Dinobot.

"Me Swoop have the samples." The Dinobot stood up. "Me Swoop go wake him Perceptor up."

"Please do." Jazz turned back to Prowl, tapping his fingers over his mouth. "I'm going t' need access to Blue's subspace."

"I thought you might." Prowl's tone was placid. "I will see to it before I go off-shift. I will find you at your… office, I take it?" His lips twitched.

"Damn right you will." Jazz headed out. "Alright, alright, c'mon in and gawk to your lil' sparks' content", he told the crowd outside amicably. He saw a familiar blue-and-red bodywork at the back of the crowd and grinned. "Hey, Smokescreen! How's the betting?"

"Three-to-one, so far. There's also a pool on how many hours it'll take you."

"For or against?"

"What a question." Smokescreen smiled guilelessly. "This is Prowl you're going up against, Jazz." He shrugged.

"Non-believers." Jazz mocked them all as he headed off to try and figure out where this much-vaunted office of his actually was.


	3. Chapter 3

Several hours later the Intelligence Officer lowered his head to the crook of his arms with a long groan and banged his forehead quietly against the desk. He half-suspected Prowl of rearranging the shifts so that everyone and their damned Creator had been up for one reason or another in the wee hours of the morning… either that, or the 'killer' had gone to an awful lot of trouble to make Jazz's life very long and boring. Without lifting his head he stared at a data slate by his side and blotted from it the names of Fireflight and Air Raid. After a moment he blotted out Blades as well, with a mental shrug. Primus knew there was about only one thing those three were capable of whenever their paths crossed, and if he was going on gut instinct… Well, that was the whole bloody point.

Grimlock stepped back into the office. "Who you Jazz want see now?"

Jazz craned his neck without lifting his head, envying the Dinobot's stubborn determination. It suddenly occurred to him that he was not relying on another part of Grimlock's personality that might just come in handy. "Surprise me, Grim."

The Dinobot paused. "You Jazz want me Grimlock choose?"

Grimlock had a predator's nose when it came to this kind of thing. Very few Autobots got away with playing pranks on the Dinobots because of that, though Jazz didn't think many of them realized it. "Just be nice an' polite about it, a'right?"

Grimlock nodded, a smile growing by leaps and bounds on his face. "Yes, me Grimlock know. No good-cop, bad-cop. Yet."

Jazz chuckled and straightened up as the Dinobot walked away. Once again he opened the team's radio frequency. _Hey, Percy?_

_Would it be truly disagreeable to you not to call me that?_ The scientist replied primly. Of them all he was the only one who'd gotten a full night's sleep, but he sure as Pit didn't sound it.

_Sure thing, Perce._ Jazz could all but hear Perceptor's long-suffering sigh. _Did you get a chance to look at the fluid samples?_

_Indeed. I must commend Prowl, this is quite a realistic mixture. I'm afraid I cannot give you any more information than you already possess, though. The molecular structure of the lubricant and the ionization of the coolant are indicative of a powerful -_

_Percy, in small words, please!_ Sideswipe jumped into the line.

_Him First Aid agree._ Swoop's calm voice broke in before anyone could start an argument._ Very powerful gun._

Jazz considered for a brief moment. _Percy, how many mechs in the base are carrying custom guns?_

The scientist was quiet. _That is, unfortunately, a somewhat long list._

_That's ok. The good thing about lists, you never get too many names in 'em to match from one to the next. You wanna bring it to my office?_

_You have an office?,_ both Perceptor and Sideswipe chorused in disbelief.

_Whaddaya mean I –!_ Jazz sighed. _Yes, I have an office. Now get yer afts down here, all of you. Best if we pool what we know._ In person and out of Prowl's hearing, he though, without adding it out loud.

_Seven hours and counting, Jazz,_ Sideswipe noted, rather pointlessly.

_Whose side are you on?,_ the Intelligence Officer demanded, banging his forehead against the desk again after he closed the line.

Swoop and Sideswipe arrived first, the former with a data slate. "Him First Aid say it all the same as before", the Dinobot turned to see Perceptor step into the room, looking blankly about. "First shot hit him Bluestreak's core, kill him right away. Second shot to main memory bank. Very powerful weapon, shots go right through."

"So no help from that quarter." He noted that Sideswipe looked as amused by the dusty, empty office as Perceptor looked perplexed by it. At the moment it had a desk and a bunch of chairs, as well as a growing pile of data slates on one side that were, unfortunately, telling Jazz not a thing. This, he thought, never happens in the show. Everyone they question always has something useful to say. So am I missing it, or are they just all in cahoots with Prowl? He rather thought it was the latter.

"Well, we could –" When Sideswipe saw the set of Jazz's mouth, he lifted his hands. "I'm just saying. It's not like he can keep quiet forever."

"You leave Blue outta this." Jazz waggled a finger at the twin, taking the list from Perceptor. "Thanks, Percy."

Perceptor nodded. "It could be a normal gun, you know. When fired close enough to its target –"

"Wasn't." Sideswipe was – thank Primus, Jazz thought- finally getting into the swing of things as he looked at the 'autopsy' report. "The closer you fire a gun, the more likely you'll melt the edges of the wound. This wound's shredded, but not melted." He looked up. "This is nice work. Hound?"

"I think so." Jazz leaned back, letting them talk, letting himself listen.

"Definitely something big and powerful." Sideswipe shook his head. "It nearly took his head off. Who wrote this?" He set the slate down.

"Probably Prowl." Jazz muttered the name of the bane of his current existence. "So, who do we have?"

"Ironhide?" Sideswipe shrugged. "Cliffjumper?"

"Recharging and recharging." Jazz had checked the security logs.

The Lamborghini considered, then chortled. "Sunny?"

"I'm gonna smack you." Jazz mock-threatened. "Both of you were out on patrol so for once we know you're both innocent. I'm just waitin' for the universe t' collapse and pigs t' fly."

"Maybe him killer take someone else's weapon?", Swoop suggested delicately, to immediate groans of dismay.

"Gotta find that gun." Jazz stared mournfully at the pile of data slates. "Then we can figure out who used it. But for that we need to know which gun it was. Which ain't gonna happen."

Perceptor picked up the 'autopsy' report. "I would like to examine the, erm, the body?"

"I'm sure Aid will oblige. Or Hound. Or heck, even Blue. Just don't badger Blue, Percy. And no, 'Sides, you can't go with him." He nodded to Swoop. Both the Autobots stood up – and were nearly run over as Trailbreaker charged into the office, face alight with excitement, something clutched in his hands.

"Jazz! I was going over Blue's stuff from his subspace –"

"Blue's subspace?" Sideswipe threw Jazz an incredulous look. "You got -?"

"As defined by Prowl." Jazz waved the twin silent. "What'd ya find, Trail?"

The SUV set his trophy on the desk. He'd even carefully bagged it and written an ID label for it. For a moment Jazz wasn't sure what the mangled, blackened thing was. A slow, wicked smile spread over his face when he recognized it. Now, he thought, now we start counting. He picked up the battered remains of the remote control for the TV. "Trail, d'ya know what you just did?"

"Um… I think so." Trail looked mildly anxious, but decidedly pleased with himself. "I mean, I don't think anyone else but Blue watches morning cartoons – and I know everyone else hates 'em; well, maybe except for 'Bee."

"That's right." Jazz laid the remote down again, trying to adopt a grave air and failing miserably, he felt so smug. "I think we're lookin' at our motive. Good job, Trail." The SUV beamed, all the more so when Sideswipe and Swoop clapped his shoulders and repeated the feeling.

"That seems an awfully flimsy excuse –" Perceptor started.

"It is crime-of-passion." Swoop chortled. "Over TV channel!"

Jazz groaned. Prowl was definitely going for the more camp-and-cheese feel of the whole thing – or would this be Sunstreaker's idea? Either way, he'd have to return the favor. Once he'd won. "This is a good break. Trail, go see if Wheeljack will help you go over this thing circuit by circuit – obviously it was on the wrong end of an argument, and maybe our killer left something behind t' remember him by."

Trail nodded, turned towards the door and hesitated. "Um, Jazz, we don't have fingerprints, do we?"

"More's the pity. No, Trail, we don't. But that don't mean we can't be told apart. If I say dark shiny blue, what do you think?"

"Tracks."

"Green?"

"Hound." Trail suddenly realized what he'd said, and blinked. "Oh! I see."

"What am I supposed to do, oh great and wise leader?" Sideswipe asked as the other three stepped out.

Jazz considered. "I want you to talk to 'Bee and Ironhide, and the others who are on shift. Grimlock can't bring them here so just… " He smiled. "Be your usual, charming self." Sideswipe gave him an elaborate bow and headed out. "And stay AWAY from Blue!" The Intelligence Officer sat down and stared at the pile of data slates, wishing he could go out with the lot of them and play skeetshoot, due process be damned. His radio suddenly drew his attention. _Me Grimlock sorry it take so long. Me Grimlock not find Mirage, look for someone else._

_He's been doing a lot of hiding lately, Grim. Give him time, we'll catch him._ Unless he's the killer and is under orders to keep his shiny invisible aft out of my hands until the time's up, he thought. _Why'd you want t' bring him in particularly?_

_Him Mirage gunner. Him Mirage can turn invisible. And him Snarl say him Prowl talk to him Mirage a lot when him Prowl and you Jazz make bet._

Jazz tapped his fingers thoughtfully over his lips – and decided that no, Mirage was not the killer. Whoever had done the dirty deed had come up close and personal, and Grimlock had put his finger on the proverbial flaw: someone who could turn invisible would most definitely have used such an ability. That didn't mean the sniper wasn't hiding something, though. _Who'd you get?_

The door to his office opened in the middle of a high-pitched rant that made Jazz's audios cringe. "- make-believe authority to bully an honest Autobot in the middle of his off-time, which is rare enough as it is –"

"Red." Jazz tried to get the Security Chief's attention.

"- not to mention all these absurd and time-consuming requests to access security feed with no plausible reason or explanation, as if I didn't have anything better –"

"Red?"

"- to do, having all sorts of unauthorized personnel galloping about at all hours, in and out, but do you care about the extra effort that has to be done to keep records of –"

"RED!"

"WHAT!?" Red Alert turned to glare balefully at Jazz… and seemed to register for the first time his surroundings. He stared about himself in bafflement. "What is this place?"

"My office" Jazz leaned over his desk, hands flat on the surface.

It occurred to Red Alert, for the first time in his very long and long-suffering career, that he was talking to the Autobots' third-in-command.

"Oh." He hesitated, if only for a split second. But it was all Jazz needed to see to know how to handle the belligerent Security Chief – because Grimlock had done something Jazz wouldn't have even thought of, and he doubted Prowl had either. "Well, I still do not approve of all this foolishness. It is playing havoc with the shift scheduling, with maintenance, with security checkups –"

"With Blue's life", Jazz added in more or less the same tone.

"Blue's fine!" Red Alert waved an angry finger at him. "Don't try to embroil me in this bizarre make-believe lunacy!"

"Have a seat, Red." Jazz gestured amicably. The Security Chief seemed about to refuse out of sheer stubbornness, but behind him the huge bulk of Grimlock was radiating Bad Cop attitude like a star emits heat, and he relented with ill grace. _Nice going, Grim!_ Jazz radio'd quietly.

Grimlock shuffled behind Red. _Him Red Alert obnoxious, but him on shift last night. Must have seen something._ The Dinobot looked distinctly pleased with himself.

"I don't know what you want from me. I am not part of this absurd game of yours, I have no intention of becoming part of it, I have no interest in it."

"You were on duty last night?"

Red stared at him. "Yes. As I am every night. Which you ought to know, as you share that shift with me every other night."

"And all your security systems were nominal?"

Red puffed up, sputtering. "Of course they were! Do you think I would have it any other way –?!"

"And yet you didn't see someone shoot Bluestreak right in the Rec Room?" Red Alert's jaw clattered closed so abruptly the click echoed in the room. Eyes wide, the Security Chief stared at Jazz in utter, speechless shock. "I know you've got at least six cameras in there, Red", the Intelligence Officer drawled.

"Well…", Red stammered. "Well, he must have been shot somewhere else –" He visibly caught himself. "No, I didn't. See. Anything. Because Bluestreak hasn't been shot at all." His hands were clenched into fists.

Jazz hid a snicker, his expression still polite and exquisitely neutral. "So then… you saw him walking down the corridors of the Ark with two gaping wounds on his frame, and thought nothing of this."

"He was FINE when I -!" The Security Chief went stiff as a support beam and finally, after a few long moments, glared at Jazz. "Stop that!", he snapped.

"Red, I ain't the enemy."

"That remains to be seen."

"Why don't you just tell me what you did see?"

Red glowered, but obviously something had been jarred within him – likely his pride. "I don't see how the truth will help your little charade –"

"We're all after the truth here, Red. You did see Blue?"

"Yes. He came out of his quarters some time after 0500 and headed to the Rec Room – and before you say anything, he looked fine at that point."

"He was alone in the Rec Room?"

"Yes… no." Red frowned. "Mirage had been there earlier. I don't remember seeing him step out." Jazz made a mental note to allow Red a chance to check his logs before coming around to have a look at them himself, knowing the Security Chief would be too bugged about that seeming discrepancy to let it pass. "He looked to be alone", he said, somewhat defensively.

"Fair enough. And then?"

"And then what?"

"You didn't see him get shot?'

"He has NOT. BEEN. SHOT!" Red shouted. "He is in the Rec Room right now and he's FINE!"

Jazz, however, had just realized something critical. He did cover the night shift in the Security Room every other night.

He alternated it with Prowl.

Mentally, he caressed an image of shaking Prowl by the neck until screws flew out. "Did anything else happen? False alarms, glitches?"

"My systems do not glitch." The Security Chief snapped. "You reported nothing unusual in your last communication before returning to base. Silverbolt reported no suspicious activity either. The next shift didn't have anything productive to say. After that we ran the standard system checkup subroutines –" Red stopped talking so abruptly air actually hissed out.

Jazz simply smiled. "Something came up." He prompted Red Alert on with a gesture.

"I was running a check up on the perimeter sensors when I received a malfunction message… It turned out to be nothing but… we both… It had to be checked… We turned away… I had my eyes off the screen for a minute! Just a minute!" He stared at Jazz in shock.

The Intelligence Officer let the silence fill between them for a while. "And then Prowl told you it was his little game gettin' started, and you've been so crabby about it, you let it be." If Red's face hadn't been so dark to begin with, Jazz had the feeling it would have been a lobster-bright shade of scarlet. "Don't suppose you'd let me have a look at those logs?"

"You'll have copies of them as soon as I'm done reviewing them." Jazz had the feeling the Security Chief was contemplating the same image he'd had in his mind before, hands twitching at his sides. "May I leave?", he asked with overt politeness.

"Thanks fer puttin' up with us, Red."

"Hmph." Only slightly mollified, Red Alert stalked out of the office.

Jazz considered. "What d' you think, Grim?"

Grimlock ducked his head. "Me Grimlock think you Jazz talk to him Prowl."

"Nah. Wasn't Prowl. Besides, it wouldn't be fair questionin' him and we both know it." He stared at the slates, and then looked up at the Dinobot. "Mirage knows something."

"Him Mirage do it?"

"Doesn't seem his style, but I've been wrong before." He opened a radio line. _Blaster, c'n I borrow you and Steeljaw's nose?_

_Are you taking the rest of him?,_ the Comm. Officer teased. There was a pause as he spoke to his cassette. _We're on shift, but we'll be done soon. What do you need?_

_I need an invisible pain in the aft to become visible. Preferably in my office._

_You -?!_

_Yes, I have an office,_ Jazz said tartly.

_Consider it done._

_'preciate it, you two._ Jazz tossed the slates about on his desk, hoping for some order to appear out of the morass of data. He looked up at a snort from Grimlock. "Somethin' up?"

"Him Prowl want talk to me Grimlock." The Dinobot's visor gleamed for a moment. "Him Prowl say me Grimlock missed one sus-pect", he growled his opinion of that.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Grim. Go!" When the Dinobot had left his office, he called Prowl. _What was that all about?_

_It's been eight hours. At this point in the show, some critical clue always appears. I am merely following the specific format for this scenario._

_… This a real clue, or some more smoke an' mirrors?_

_You have as much evidence as you have been able to find, have you not? Has any of it been lacking in substance?_

Jazz muttered something hardly polite, but he couldn't refute that point. _I'm winnin' this. There's no way I'm sittin' through twenty-four days of meetings._

_On your best behavior, too._

"Go rotate yourself." Jazz told the empty office in a growl as he closed the line and stared at the desk. Not Hound, Mirage, Prowl, Cliffjumper or Ironhide. It wasn't just a matter of having a gun powerful enough to shoot through a mech, Jazz knew: he was running out of sharpshooters, and First Aid's comment still burned brightly in his mind. It's one thing to shoot at someone's core while they're dodging like mad, and quite another to hit it.

And how in the Pit did Grissom and Caine and Taylor found the time to get out of their offices? Jazz stared resentfully at the data slates; he was being buried alive under the slagging things. "Oh, slaggit", he snapped irately and started looking at the slates and chucking whatever he felt wouldn't do the case any good over his shoulder with little care for due process or broken circuitry.

He ended up rereading the autopsy, his desk once again more or less clean. The report had Prowl's unmistakable attention to detail all over it, though obviously First Aid had rewritten it to match his own smoother and friendlier writing style. What we need, he thought, is a crack shot with a powerful gun, someone Blue trusted –don't that narrow it down- who didn't mind getting down and dirty and who knew not only how to kill with one keen shot but how to keep us from finding him out. They weren't just looking for someone who could shoot a big gun, they were looking for a lot of knowledge, on a lot of fields. Jazz tapped at the autopsy slate, wondering if it was worth braving a trip to the Med Bay… but he doubted Prowl had had any more luck than he had embroiling Ratchet into their game.

A quiet beep told him his ninth hour had just started counting down and he slowly tapped the slate against his forehead, as if willing it to psychically render him all-knowing. He heard the door to his office open and Grimlock's voice, unexpectedly full of glee, announced. "Me Grimlock bring sus-pect to interrogate!"

Jazz lowered the slate – and stared in utter, disbelieving shock.

Optimus Prime stared calmly at his Intelligence Officer. "You wished to speak to me, Jazz?"

"Oh, slag", was all Jazz could say.


	4. Chapter 4

The Intelligence Officer steepled his fingers before his face and stared at the mech currently sitting on the other side of his desk. Mentally, he was writing a How-to-Kill-Prowl list. It was highly detailed and had a little over a hundred items on it.

Prime was sitting before him with his usual calm, unmoving confidence. The mech was a rock, an ever-present bulwark of stability, and Jazz damned silently to the Pit and back the faceplate his CO wore, hiding everything but the calm blue optics. He waited, watching as Prime looked about himself before returning his gaze to the Porsche. "So you remembered you have an office." There was quiet amusement in Prime's voice.

Jazz considered the many, many ways in which 'best behavior' could be interpreted. Finally, without having moved so much as an inch, he drawled. "You don't sleep much, Optimus, do ya?"

"Occupational hazard", the other mech replied, leaning back on his chair. "Though I like your way of dealing with paperwork." He tucked his chin towards the back of Jazz's desk.

The Intelligence Officer winced mentally: that pile of wildly flung about data slates was coming back to bite him in the aft in the most unexpected, and worse, of manners. "Don't have a trash bin in here just yet." He shrugged lightly.

"Ah." Prime nodded.

They stared at one another for another long moment. By the door, Jazz saw Grimlock hanging onto their every word with undisguised glee, and remembered the strange little smile that had ghosted over Prowl's features when he'd asked for the Dinobot as 'police support'. Of the entire Ark's population the Dinobot leader was the only one who came close to matching both Prime's mass and strength; of course Prowl would have thought it highly amusing that Jazz had picked him out by sheer luck. "Awake last night?"

"Catching up. The quiet's good for that."

"So you were in your office all night?"

"No." Prime seemed to consider. "I went by the Security Room, but Prowl and Red Alert seemed busy so I left them to their jobs. I passed by the Rec Room… I think Mirage was there. I went out for a bit, just to get some air. Probably fifteen minutes."

"What time was this?" Jazz kept his tone casual.

Prime's eyes were unfathomably calm. "I'm not certain. Somewhere between 0400 and 0500."

I. Am. Gonna. Kill. Prowl. "Don't suppose anyone can vouch for those times?"

Prime tapped his fingers on the armrest of the chair. "Prowl, perhaps. He greeted me, though he did seem a bit distracted. I believe he and Red Alert were running maintenance protocols. I am not sure about Mirage, I didn't stay long in the Rec Room. Maybe the sentries, though I didn't actually leave the Ark, I only walked up to the entrance."

"Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps." When Prime leveled an inquiring glance on him, Jazz shrugged delicately. "Lots of maybes there, Optimus."

"I'm sure you have ways to verify my whereabouts."

Jazz nodded, leaning back. "Did you see Blue?"

"No. Though I may have simply not looked hard enough."

"When did you see him last?"

Prime considered that question carefully. "Yesterday, when he returned from patrol. We met on the hallway."

"Had he been in trouble lately?"

"That would be for Prowl to know, wouldn't it?"

"I'm askin' you, though." Their optics met.

And for the first time since his CO had walked through the door, Jazz saw the merest hint of amusement in the deep blue of Prime's gaze. "Not for the past four days or so."

Slag him and Prowl and Blue and everyone, Jazz thought in wry good humor. He's enjoyin' this, the big hulk. "Put your hands on the desk, please."

Again for the first time, there was a distinct air of perplexity about him as Prime repeated, "My hands?"

"Palms up." Jazz kept his tone mild. "Please."

Prime did as he was bid. Jazz leaned forward and spent a very long time mapping the nicks and cuts, the scars and pathways of the deep blue hands. "May I see your gun, please?"

"My gun."

"Your gun. Y'know, that big honkin' thing you shoot 'cons with." He spread his arms. "About this big, black, mean-lookin', small cannon, really."

Prime cocked an amused brow at him as he drew his rifle from subspace and set it on the desk between them. Again, Jazz spent a long time examining it without making a sound. "I don't suppose you'd let me have it for a coupla hours?"

"I would rather not."

Jazz looked up at Prime. The big mech's fingers had stopped dancing on the armrest. "Alright", he said mildly, leaning back again and watching his CO subspace his rifle. "Question."

"Yes?"

"Can I see your data slate?"

Prime sighed, mildly exasperated as he drew the required item from his subspace. "If you'd like me to empty my subspace on your desk, Jazz, you're going to need a bigger desk. Not to mention a bigger office." He tossed the slate over the desk.

Jazz peered at it without touching it for a brief moment. Finally he called up not the documents themselves, but the record of the time when they'd been worked on. He leaned back again after a moment. "Thanks."

Prime subspaced the slate. "Can I go?"

"Sure." Jazz shrugged. "For now."

Prime froze halfway out of his chair, then straightened up and turned, ever so slowly, to fully face the Intelligence Officer. "For now?"

Jazz steepled his fingers again. "Somethin' the matter with that?", he drawled.

"If you have further questions, Jazz, ask them." Prime's optics flickered. "Now."

Jazz noticed that his CO was not using The Voice, that unmistakable tone that could send any Autobot running about without ever once bothering to ask why, even though the huge Mack truck was more or less acting as if he were. He leaned back on his chair so he could peer up at Prime without craning his neck all the way back. "What were you doin' in the Rec Room?"

"Getting something to drink."

"And you think Mirage was there."

"Yes."

"But not Blue."

"No."

"Hm." The Porsche lifted one of the few data slates that had survived the slate-maggedon. "Have you seen Mirage lately?", he asked, his tone more curious than anything.

"No."

"Neither has anyone else, didya know?"

"I will let him know of your interest if I see him." Prime's voice was clipped. "Anything else?"

"Why'd you kill Blue?"

The words hung in the air like dry lightning. Grimlock, who'd all but fallen asleep against the wall, nearly fell flat on his back as he snapped upright with a startled grunt. Prime lowered his head minutely, like a bull about to charge and his voice went very soft. "I beg your pardon?"

Jazz gestured ever so casually. He couldn't really read Prime behind the ever-present faceplate, but he knew his visor made it just as hard for his opponent to read him. "Y'know Red's offered to give me copies of this morning's security logs?" It was hard to see, but it was there: a minute flicker in the deep blue optics. "I think he's kickin' himself for not… usin' this as an opportunity to really test his security protocols." He dropped his voice to a drawl. "Y'know, between your office and the Rec Room there's –" He ticked his fingers off quickly, showily. "- sheesh, somethin' like fifteen security cameras and a dozen sensor arrays. And that don't even cover the Rec Room itself."

He paused. For an infinite three seconds, no one spoke until Prime uttered a single, impossibly calm word. "And?"

Jazz simply tapped his lips thoughtfully. "I think you did see Blue." He paused. "I think you did more than see him."

"You seem to be thinking a lot." There was no mistaking the smile in Prime's tone. "Lots of 'I think' in there, Jazz."

Behind his CO, Jazz saw Grimlock lower his head and all but heard the Dinobot's ultrasonic rumble, but Prime had put his finger on the proverbial nail: all he had were his thoughts. "I do believe that's bound t' change soon", he said calmly. "You shot him, twice. Once… who knows why, but the second time to cover your tracks." He smiled up at Prime again. "You went out just so the sentries could see you." He nodded to himself. "You shot him."

Prime waited and then leaned forward. Jazz' immediate, startled thought as his CO planted his hands on the desk and came to loom over the much, much smaller Intelligence Officer, was that here was one mech that had Looming down to an art. He fought against an instinctive flinch as Prime's shadow covered him, holding himself perfectly still, perfectly calm.

"Prowl thought it might come to this." Prime said very quietly, obviously only for Jazz's audios. "And he left me a message for you." His eyes grinned mischievously at Jazz for a moment before he Loomed somewhat closer, his voice a mere whisper. "You. Can't. Prove it." He moved back, diminishing his Looming by a fraction and speaking normally, his voice once again impossibly calm – back in character, Jazz thought. "If you had more than… thoughts to offer, Jazz, I might be… interested. As it is, I have matters to attend to in my own office."

"I'm sure you do." Jazz steepled his fingers again. "Make sure I c'n find you if I need to, please."

Prime paused at the door. "I've no reason to hide", he shot at his Intelligence Officer before nodding a greeting to Grimlock and leaving.

Jazz let out a long, rattling breath and faced Grimlock, visor to visor. "Slaggit", he swore, quietly and feelingly.

"Him Prime do it." Grimlock's voice was full of assurance.

"I'm surprised you didn't fall on him like a ton of scrap, Grim."

"Can't." Grimlock curled his hands into fists, a giant predatory grin on his face. "Need proper evidence. This not Cops show, this CSI."

"And he thinks we've got zip on that department. Which means Prowl might think we've got zip in that department as well. Which is, as far as I'm concerned, the best news since Trail came in." Jazz opened his team's radio line. _'Sides!_

_What'd I do?,_ was the Lamborghini's immediate reply to that sharp tone.

_The list is endless, Jazz replied. Go find Blaster, stick to him like glue. We need to find Mirage, and we need to find him now._

_Okay. _There was a brief, brief silence. _Why?_

Jazz grinned. _Because I think he saw the whole thing._ His team burst into immediate, excited babble. _Unfortunately, I think our prime suspect knows this, and I think that's why our invisibility-enabled Ligier has been keeping out of sight. 'Sides, don't you let him out of reach once you got him._

_You got it. Who am I keeping him safe from?_

Jazz sighed deeply. _Prime._

The line was profoundly, utterly silent._ Prime suspect!_ Swoop burst out laughing almost simultaneously with Sideswipe, whose merriment only built up after that. Even Trail started chortling helplessly at the Dinobot's words.

Jazz snickered, falling back on his chair. _That's not a pun, Swoop, that's just mean_ The team cackled some more._ Trail, I want you to go to the Security Office, and I want you to be on your absolute best behavior. Take the security logs Red's going to give you and hand-deliver them to me. Don't transfer them, don't message them, make sure you don't give anyone a chance to tamper with them._

_Yessir!_

_Percy, meet me in the Rec Room. We need to have a look at it and at the Rec Room mapping file Trail made._

_Certainly._

_Swoop, you find 'Sides, too, and stay with him and Blaster._

_Why you Jazz want look at Rec Room again?_ Swoop asked. _What we miss?_

_Aid said the shots went right through Blue, Swoop. Did you see any gunfire scoring on the walls?_

There was another silence. _Me Swoop not see anything._

_Trail?_

_I… don't think so. I'd remember it._

_You think Mirage got shot, not the walls,_ Sideswipe pointed out.

_I think that's how Prime knows he was there. I don't think he saw him at all, just that his shots weren't hitting the walls. We've got our suspect, people. We've got fifteen hours to pin this on him. We know who – now we need how._


	5. Chapter 5

Prowl looked up from a data slate as the door to his office hissed open, and cocked a brow at his visitor. "Why do you persist on sneaking into my office? There's no more need for it."

Sunstreaker shrugged. "When else am I gonna get the chance?" He threw the SIC a canny, wickedly amused look. "And I keep hoping you'll change your mind."

"Absolutely not." Prowl went back to analyzing the report on his data slate. "The crime has been committed. The murderer has all the information he needs to carry on with any further efforts, if he feels such are necessary. My involvement is done."

"You've got a lot of faith that you accounted for everything."

"I have accounted for everything." Prowl leveled a quick look on the gold Lamborghini. "Including your promise to remain a spectator, like myself."

Sunstreaker waved negligently. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But aren't you the least bit… curious? Don't you want to win?"

"I will win." Prowl made a quick notation on the slate and moved onto the next one. "You did note that, if we were not following the premise of a CSI episode, they would be bereft of even a plausible suspect at this point." He frowned, looking up at nothing in particular.

Sunstreaker grinned crookedly. "You know you want to…", he sing-sang. When the Datsun sighed in exasperation, he went on. "You know you do. All the planning, all the setting up, and now you're just gonna sit back and do nothing?"

"That is exactly what we are going to do." Prowl lifted a finger. "Without proper evidence -"

"Prowl?" An open line chirped on the office.

"Yes, Streetwise?" A moment's thought told the SIC that the Protectobot was on watch in the Security Room.

"Um… there's a problem. Red Alert's locked in his room."

"That's his prerogative when off-shift."

"No, I mean, he's locked in his room."

Prowl and Sunstreaker crossed a look and the Lamborghini lifted his hands. "Don't look at me! I've been busy, and you know that!"

"And so has your brother." Prowl stood up. "Red Alert?" The open line hissed static at him. "He's apparently also being jammed." He stood up and moved out of his office at a brisk clip, Sunstreaker flanking him. By the time they got to the Security Chief's door, there was an audience before it, all of them gleefully listening to the torrent of vitriol coming from the other side. The crowd made way for Prowl and Sunstreaker and tried, with varying degrees of non-success, to look slightly less amused at the situation. Prowl paused at the door and saw Jazz and Trailbreaker standing at the back of the crowd, wearing distinctly exasperated expressions.

"Well, now", Sunstreaker said in a quiet undertone. "Fancy that."

Prowl tried the lock, and received no response – not even a chime to let him know he'd been acknowledged. He typed in his personal override and once again received nothing but sturdy silence. He stared at the door, wondering how to reach Red Alert without shouting through the door.

"Try a private line." Jazz was behind him, voice soft. "I'd drop the volume 'fore you do, though."

Forewarned, Prowl did so. _Red A-_

_PROWL, GET ME OUT OF HERE! I don't know whose idea this was, but this is carrying your capricious little exercise much too far, do you hear me?! I warned you, repeatedly, that I wanted no part in this foolishness -!_

_This isn't my doing, Red._ Prowl exercised just enough volume to cut through the hysterical tones of the Security Chief. _You are being jammed off of the main communication lines, do you know how?_

_No! Streetwise ran a sensor sweep, but all it says it's that the source is in here!_ Red's tone was enough answer to that possibility – if he'd been anywhere within reach of the hardware doing this to him it would likely have been dismantled to its molecular components already. _What do you mean this isn't your doing?!_

Prowl, about to answer, turned at a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find Wheeljack behind him, smiling wryly. "Can't scan the lock with you in the way, Prowl."

"Excuse me." Prowl stepped neatly aside, and paused as he caught sight of a much larger presence just out of the corner of one optic. He turned and found himself face-to-chest with his CO. "Prime."

Prime nodded thoughtfully at him. "What happened?"

Jazz startled the Senior Officer huddle by speaking up first. "Trail was on his way t' have a word with Red, I think he was the first to figure out something was glitched." He nodded to the SUV, who was uncharacteristically frowning at the door. "I went to the Security Room to see if I could figure out anything from there, but Streetwise didn't even know something had happened. Sensor sweeps're tellin' him there's a jammer inside Red's room…" He shrugged expressively at that. "We've been sittin' here on our afts since."

"What did Trailbreaker want with Red?", Prowl asked as Prime tried his own override code on the lock to the same electronic indifference that Prowl had met with.

Jazz gave him –or so the SIC thought- a very level look through his visor. "Not much; Red was gonna pass us some info I asked him for."

Prowl kept his face straight. Red? Jazz had somehow gotten Red's help? Over the Intelligence Officer's shoulder he saw Sunstreaker smirking at him, and promptly turned away. "Wheeljack?"

The Senior Engineer shook his head and, more out of irritation than usefulness punched the lock half-heartedly. "I have no idea." There was a vast silence from everyone within earshot of those words, all of whom stared at the Lancia in shock. "Well, I don't!", he replied defensively. "There's nothing wrong with the lock, or the door, or the sensors."

Prime lifted a hand. "Can you get Red out?"

Wheeljack blew a short sigh. "Well, yes –"

"Without blowing his door up?"

The Lancia's doorwings wilted slightly. "Well, no. I mean, not right away. I might have to dismantle the whole thing."

The Autobot CO sighed and seemed to consider something. "Sunstreaker."

Every optic turned to the gold Lamborghini, who just barely managed to restore his air of cool indifference after nearly jumping out of his armor at being put on the spot. "What?"

"Can you or Sideswipe hack the lock?"

Several voices in the crowd snickered at that. "It really would be a lot easier to blow the door off the frame", Wheeljack muttered quietly.

Prime gestured for patience. Sunstreaker had cocked his head, apparently deep in conversation with his twin. After a few moments he shook his head. "No. Red set it up so that any tampering with the lock's software triggers some sort of holy-slag-under-attack countermeasure that locks them up for good unless he releases them from the Security Room. I guess he didn't want any invading 'cons finding his stash of high-grade." Yet more anonymous snickering surfaced from the crowd at his quip.

"Red Alert!" Prime's voice thundered over the crowd, clearly cutting off the tirade coming from the other side of the door. "Red, calm down. We're doing everything we can to get you out of there." He turned to the other officers. "He's not in any danger that we know of, and that's really what matters. Wheeljack, go ahead and take the entire wall apart if you have to, but not by force." Prime leveled a stern look on his Senior Engineer. Prowl's optic shifted at a slight motion by his side. Prime, apparently, did not miss it either. "Yes, Jazz?"

The Porsche stared up at his CO and shrugged elegantly. "Nothin'. Just wondering who's gonna cover Red's shift if he can't get out of his room by tonight."

"Well, I'm sure 'Jack can fix this before then but, as you're busy…" A smile danced on Prime's tone. "… and Prowl is already on shift, if need be, I'll cover Red."

Prowl turned sharply – very sharply.

And wondered if someone else had known that Red was helping Jazz – or had been about to.

"Yes, Prowl?"

"Nothing", Prowl replied automatically, blinking up at the Mack truck. "It is… nothing." He watched Prime excuse himself to have a word with Sunstreaker while the crowd, its source of entertainment gone, began to drift apart. Prowl stood by Wheeljack's side, trying frantically to figure out if Sunstreaker had managed to infect him with the Lamborghini's rather illogical desire to meddle, or if something… He started moving then at his customary brisk clip, making a beeline for the Security Office. He was aware Jazz was following him, aware there was a snide little smirk on the Intelligence Officer's face, but he relegated them to a secondary concern. He walked into the room from which literally every nook and cranny of the Ark could be monitored and nodded politely at Streetwise and Silverbolt, the current watchmechs.

As an afterthought, he noticed Jazz had paused at the door and threw him a puzzled look over one doorwing.

Jazz grinned and pointed at an uncomfortable-looking Streetwise. "Red thinks I did it and passed judgment from on high." Prowl looked at the Protectobot, who looked suddenly as sheepish as the Aerialbot behind him. "But you go on." Jazz's expression told Prowl he would not be finding out anything Jazz didn't already know. Not surprising, as the logs showed the Intelligence Officer to be the last one to have accessed the information the SIC was looking for. On the screen before him, the footage from the security feeds around Red's door showed Prime walking by – not unusual in and of itself, since his quarters were only a few doors down from Red's and he'd just wandered into them for a few minutes before heading back out. Sunstreaker had come out of a side hallway as Prime walked by Red's door, and the Autobot CO had paused to strike a brief conversation with the golden Lamborghini, asking about the last patrol, inquiring about the next shift – little more than small talk, and certainly nothing suspicious.

Except that Sunny was just broad enough and tall enough that Prowl couldn't see most of Prime's right side – or the door the Mack truck was standing next to. The two had parted ways; Prime had been headed for the maintenance hangars while Sunstreaker continued on towards the Rec Room, and then on towards the Training Room. Prowl frowned and set the feed to backtrack –

**Log blocked for security reasons. Please provide access code.**

He stared, unblinking, at the screen. Behind him he heard a quiet chuckle. "Code Override Prowl, Second-in-command", he told the system.

**Security Clearance insufficient. Access denied.**

He typed in an override.

**Security Clearance insufficient. Access denied.**

"Who locked the logs from last night?", he asked calmly (ever so calmly!) from Streetwise.

"Red Alert, sir." The Nissan replied meekly.

"Did he, in fact, lock the logs?"

"He says he didn't, sir. And…" He threw a wary look at the chortling Porsche at the door. "He can't unlock them –"

"- because he's locked in his quarters and isolated from the main commlines. I can follow the reasoning, Streetwise, thank you." Prowl stared at the screens.

As the SIC's silence grew and Jazz's chortling progressed to full-out cackling, Silverbolt offered sheepishly. "At least nothing… bad's really happened." At that Jazz lost it, his laughter so infectious both the Aerialbot and the Protectobot started smiling. Prowl simply threw the Porsche a withering glare before stalking out of the Security Room.

He was halfway out of the door and all the way ready to potentially shake Jazz very hard in hopes of restoring a proper, understandable patterning to his world, when the lights dimmed.

The four mechs stiffened, heads up and every sense at attention, but even before they could react the lights flickered back to normal. Nothing else, no other system, not the screens or the readouts, not the doors or the auxiliary stations drawing power and wisdom from Teletraan, so much as twitched. "Streetwise, Silverbolt, report. Jazz, some help." Prowl dashed back into the Security Room.

They all moved to a different station, their first concern the perimeter defenses and sensors of the Ark and her surrounding environment, but none of the stations was telling them what they already didn't know: the lights had danced – no more, no less. As Prowl listened to the other three Autobots call each system out to be nominal, he couldn't help but think that this… this seemed as contrived as the remote control in Blue's subspace.

"Who's on watch in the Main Power Room?", he asked.

"Blaster an' company", Jazz replied, much to everyone's surprise – including, after a minute, his own. Prowl saw the absentminded expression that he associated with Jazz speaking on a private line flit over the Intelligence Officer's features.

A moment later the Porsche turned and sprinted out of the Security Room at full speed. Instinctively, Prowl followed. They nearly ran Eject down as the cassette came skidding around a corner and ran right past them, shrieking gleefully. "Foul ball! Fooooooooowwwwwwl ball!" He dashed off in the direction of the Rec Room as if someone had pumped him full of more stimulants than his small frame could contain, let alone hold. And he was gathering a following.

Prowl and Jazz ran all the way to the Main Power room and burst in to an audio-shattering rendition of Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. "Primus on a hoverbarge, Blaster -!" Jazz had automatically clapped his hands protectively over his audios. Prowl merely turned his off and strode into the room.

_I'm venting my grief, man!,_ Blaster told them both over a private line. Neither his tone nor the incredibly smug grin on his face made the statement very convincing. Next to him Ramhorn and Rewind stood, the first looking decidedly crabby, the second as smug as the runaway Eject.

He leapt into the line without much of an invitation._ Eject and I drew for it. I lost._ He, too, sounded awfully chip.

Before Prowl –or Jazz- could ask anything, Sideswipe came stalking in, looking decidedly un-gleeful. Behind him came Swoop and behind the Dinobot –

Jazz muttered another curse, or so Prowl would guess from what little he could see of the Porsche. He himself blinked his optics, hoping he was wrong. _Steeljaw!?_

Blaster sent the music roaring all the way past 11 and into 15 or so. _Told ya I was ventin'._

The cassette trotted in, and had they been able to see his expression he likely would have looked as disgruntled as Ramhorm except that little remained of his elegant lion's profile other than a pile of melted gray slag. Obviously he shouldn't have been walking around, or breathing, or otherwise online, had it not been for the suspicious lack of smoke, steam, heat or the telltale smell of ozone that usually accompanies such massive damage. He came to stand by Blaster and leveled a 'look' on his carrier that likely bespoke his opinion of such treatment of his person as clearly and intimately as if Blaster were the one looking like slag.

Jazz turned to his two CSIs, then back to Blaster. "Blaster, for the love o' little mechs!"

"See how you treat a mournin' mech." Blaster heckled once he'd lowered the volume to the point when everyone could once again hear themselves think.

"'Sides?", Jazz asked.

Sideswipe sighed, rubbing at his cranium. "We were just passing the time with Blaster, waiting for his shift to end. The cassettes were running patrols while he was here on stand by." He looked at Steeljaw's 'remains' with an expression between mournful and sheepish. "Couldn't figure out why the lights jumped, so we went checking and found that." Steeljaw's tail flickered out of the illusion in irritation. "Someone tossed him into the main power core." He and Swoop looked at Jazz with a perfectly straight face.

Jazz turned to look at Prowl. "Guess we better call Aid."

"Can I -?" Blaster began eagerly.

"Yeah, sure, go knock yourself out. Everyone's probably in the Rec Room waiting for ya. C'n Steeljaw stay, though?"

With a huge, resigned sigh, the cassette laid down, the lump of molten metal settling down closer to the floor as Blaster and Rewind all but skipped out towards their expectant audience, Ramhorm trotting grumpily in their wake. Prowl stared at Steeljaw unblinkingly, recognizing Hound's handiwork but unable, in any way, shape or form, to account for it. He looked up in surprise when Jazz left the hastily summoned First Aid and the rest of his quickly arriving team gathered around the cassette and came to slouch by the SIC, his smile full of wry amusement. "Fun, no?"

Prowl stared at him.

"Just in case it hadn't occurred to you, Prowl old man…" Jazz patted him on the shoulder. "You've created a monster."

Prowl's mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments as he fought to argue against that, to find some logical, reasonable way in which he could claim he still knew what was going on with the Murder Mystery exercise. In the end, he found only one good, one wonderful thing about the fact that his 'murderer' had decided to up the ante: he was still going to win. He smiled wryly, as resigned as Ramhorn or Steeljaw. "So it would seem."


	6. Chapter 6

"What are you so mad about, 'Sides?"

Sideswipe looked up at Jazz as he helpfully handed him another data slate for the Intelligence Officer to glance cursory over before tossing it to the hefty pile at his back. "Our one tracker. Our one good shot at finding Mirage. Right under my optics." He shook his fists and voiced a deeply exasperated sound that merely made his senior smile. "I can just about hear Sunny laughing at me!"

He watched Jazz slouch back on his chair until he seemed about ready to topple over. "'Sides. Dude. Do you really believe this whole mess is still under Prowl and Sunny's control?" Jazz tucked his arms behind his head and examined his team. "Any of you?"

They stared at him thoughtfully, all but Perceptor, who'd received hurried and whispered instructions to get the remote out of Wheeljack's lab before the Senior Engineer blew himself and it up – or before someone helped him do so. The scientist was currently occupied with the remote in his own lab and (hopefully) safe.

Eventually Swoop shook his head. "No. Me Swoop remember first thing you Jazz say. Terms-of-conduct."

"Smart mech." Jazz pointed one finger at the Dinobot. "Rest of you weren't listening, apparently." He let the chair straighten up with a thump. "Part of the agreement between Prowl and yours truly was that neither was going to interfere with the everyday runnin' of the Ark. That's why gettin' Red to help was such a boon."

"Because Prowl couldn't affect the security logs." Trail looked up at that.

"There ya go. See, even with Sunny's help, Prowl's not the kind to bend the rules around. The lockout protocol, and the fact that Red's stuck in his room… This ain't from them." He shook his head, staring at another data slate that told him Wheeljack was busy dismantling the plating around Red Alert's door.

"So this is all… Prime?" The red Lamborghini paused, frowning, and then looked up at Jazz in obvious, if amused, concern. "This just got a helluva lot harder, didn't it?"

"The hardest." Jazz tossed the data slate over his shoulder.

"What we do now?", Swoop asked.

"What's Aid got to say?", Jazz countered, picking up the slate with Steeljaw's 'autopsy'.

Swoop grinned. "Him First Aid very confused. Not have script for this one." They got a chuckle out of that. "Him First Aid say damage to him Steeljaw too severe. Chassis melted, frame buckled, everything overloaded. Him First Aid say this make sense if him Steeljaw thrown into core, but it mean, too, no memory bank."

Jazz sighed, unsurprised. "Trail, the logs for that time?"

The SUV shook his head.

"Are you kidding me?!" Sideswipe slammed his hands on the table in disbelief. "He's fragging huge! How is he not on at least one camera?!"

"Probably because he knows where they all are, so he knows how to walk around 'em." Jazz tapped thoughtfully at his lips. He looked at Trailbreaker again. "Did he actually throw Steeljaw?"

"Not throw, he just pushed him. All the way from the back of the room to the front." Trail seemed fairly impressed. "I think he did it just to prove to Steeljaw he could."

"Prob'ly blindfolded with one arm behind his back." Jazz muttered as he leaned back on the rear legs of the chair, knowing from long experience in the basketball court that Prime had an almighty throw.

"Should we speak to Hound?" Sideswipe sat down at last, spinning a chair around and slouching on it, arms over the back and one hand cradling his chin.

"No, Hound's off-limits, just like Blue. Wouldn't be fair." When Sideswipe dropped his head and banged it quietly against his arms, Jazz threw his arms wide. "What?!"

"Can't we do something?"

"Oh, sure -"

"To Blue?"

"No. Be good, you!" Jazz waggled a finger warningly at the tall red mech. "Or at least subjectively so." Sideswipe grinned impishly at him. A gentle chime went through the office and they all looked up at it. Slowly, Jazz let his chair come to thump down. "That'd be the halfway mark. Ideas, people?"

Sideswipe spoke first. "Swoop, didn't you take Ravage for a swim the last time we had business as usual with the 'cons?" The Dinobot nodded. "What's the first thing he did when you grabbed him?"

"Him Rav- " Swoop cut himself short, and a slow smile spread over all their features. "Him Ravage bit me Swoop."

They all crossed another look. "Bet you Steeljaw didn't go without a fight", Sideswipe said with quiet glee. "Even a make-believe one."

Jazz nodded. "Swoop, go have another look at the 'body'. Have a talk with Blaster first, though, I think we're beginnin' t' push our luck with Steeljaw's accomodatin' nature."

"Or lack thereof", the red twin quipped.

"Me Swoop look. Maybe paint survive, or armor chips."

"He does have a bite, doesn't he?" Jazz considered. "Trail, have a word with… Have a word with Hoist and First Aid. See if someone's maybe swung by needin' some minor repairs, or borrowing a coupla things from Med Bay."

"Not Ratchet?" Sideswipe smirked.

"Oh, shut up." Jazz knew very well Ratchet had to be spoken to, just in case. "Just for that, you can go talk to Prowl."

"What did I do?" Sideswipe's head snapped up, his expression wary.

"Something, I'm sure. Take Grimlock with you." Jazz smiled at the Lamborghini's puzzled look. "You need your police rep with you when you request a warrant."

"A warr- What for, a warrant?"

"For Prime."

They stared at him. "He's not gonna give us that." Sideswipe hesitated. "Is he?"

"Why not?" Jazz stood up, his expression angelic – which in and of itself was unnerving "'s just so our Examiner c'n have a look at him. Health an' stuff. Paint samples. Maybe check for some nasty scratches." As they all stepped out he leveled a careful look on the Lamborghini. "'Sides?"

"Hm?"

"That's two mechs down. Don't make it three. Keep Grimlock with you, no matter what."

Sideswipe stopped mid-step and blinked.

When he turned to face Jazz, a slow smile was spreading over his face like sunlight after a storm. "I hadn't thought of that", he said softly.

"'Sides, he's twice your size!"

"And probably more than twice again as heavy, yeah, yeah." He was undeterred. "I get to be the Bad Cop!"

"If he tries anything!"

"Aw, you're no fun." Sideswipe all but scampered away.

Jazz buried his forehead in one hand. He drew in a deep breath and considered the empty hallway and the jumble of data in his CPU, scrambling madly about like glitchmice on stims. A small frown appeared on his forehead, which deepened as he stood there until he finally opened a private radio line. _Question for ya, Prowl._

_Another one?_

_What exactly are we talking about here, victory-wise?_ There was such a long silence Jazz had begun to wonder if he'd lost the communication when the strangest, most unexpected sound came in response.

Prowl was laughing. Softly, calmly, but unmistakably. _Now. Now, you think to ask this._

Jazz's reply was short and pointed, as well as capable of making audios smolder. _Just tell me._

_Very well. I will consider it your game, if you bring me a suspect as well as enough evidence to convict him of Bluestreak's murder, without a shadow of a doubt, before the twenty-four hours are up._

Jazz considered as he started winding his way down to the Med Bay. _Y'see, it's that 'shadow of a doubt' thing that makes me nervous. It's like that 'best behavior' thing. It's awfully open to interpretation._

_Open to -!,_ Prowl sputtered. _How is it possibly open to interpretation!?_

_The shadow thing or the behavior thing?_ Jazz fancied he could hear Prowl grinding his teeth.

_You -!_ Prowl bit back whatever he'd been about to say, and Jazz momentarily regretted the SIC's steely self-control. _Fine. How do you suggest we consider these terms – both of them, may I add, less… subjective?_

_I'll think of something… So you want Prime, in your office, and enough evidence to lock him up and throw away the key, right?_

_I want a suspect in custody, and reliable evidence to tie the crime to him._ Prowl refused to fall for the obvious trap.

_War Council?_

_I beg your pardon?_ Prowl's tone indicated he hadn't quite followed Jazz's abrupt change of tacks.

_Convene a War Council of sorts – y'know, the Officers – at least the ones not involved. 'hide, Ratchet, 'Jack... Makes it nice and uneven, no chance of a hung jury._

The line blew a long-suffering sigh at him. _By all means, please do speak to them about it._

_I'm gonna._ Jazz stopped momentarily at the door to the Med Bay, switching from one foot to the next as if wanting to find the right step to move in with. He sailed through the doors with a lopsided grin and a hefty dose of well-hidden wariness. "Evenin', Ratchet!"

The CMO looked up from a data slate. He'd been slouching at the desk he rarely had a chance to occupy within his office, and he tilted his chair back at an awfully steep angle so that he could peer through the open door into the Med Bay proper and stare at the sauntering Porsche. His brow furrowed instantly. "What do you want?"

"Just comin' by to say hi. Sheesh, Ratchet, when'd you get this paranoid?"

"When? When?" Ratchet vanished from sight and Jazz heard the chair's springs releasing abruptly. A moment later the medic came out of his office. "Though rumor and hearsay might have it that I was born this way, it's actually smart-afted, CPU-glitched menaces like you that bring out that most endearing of my qualities."

Jazz spread his hands. "It's been quiet, though, hasn't it?"

Ratchet's charge slowed, his impetus faltering. By the time he got to Jazz, he looked more thoughtful than suspicious, and while he still stared for a long time at the Porsche, eventually he crossed his arms, leaned against a berth and nodded curtly. "So it has."

"See? Nothin' wrong with a little game of wits to pass the time. Less dangerous than wrestling, or football, or one of the twins' pranks."

"Now you sweet-talk me." Ratchet gestured in mock impatience, though his mood was obviously nowhere near as bad as he was passing it off to be. "Spit it out. What do you want?"

"Just wonderin' if anyone's been by to keep you company." At one cocked brow, Jazz grinned wryly. "Like Prime."

"Prime?" Ratchet stared at him for a very long moment. "Prime?" The medic blinked at Jazz, and unexpectedly a huge, crooked grin burst to life on his stern face. "Ha! I knew it. I knew he'd crack some day. Just as well he's just pretending to it."

"Well, it probably was Prowl's idea –" Jazz was waved away dismissively.

"And you think our redoubtable leader didn't jump at the chance?" Ratchet snickered. "Well, I'll be slagged… Prime… And no, he hasn't been here."

"Borrowed any of your equipment?" At that Jazz did get a glare. "I'm just coverin' my bases, Ratch."

"No. Not that he'd have to. He keeps a fairly solid first-aid kit in his subspace."

_'Sides, see if you can add Prime's first aid kit to that warrant,_ Jazz hurriedly spoke into the private team line.

_What, now? Prowl's already looking at us funny._

_Do what you can._ "So he wouldn't have to get anyone's help to do a quick patch-up?"

"Are you telling me there's actual injuries coming out of this thing, Jazz?" Ratchet's voice went dangerously soft.

"This ain't my doing, Ratch! I'm pretty sure Prime's callin' his own shots now." Jazz took a tiny little step away from the medic. When he saw the thunder gathering in Ratchet's optics, he added, almost as an afterthought, "Though, y'know, I do need a jury of peers to decide who wins at the end, Prowl or me. You could always…" He gestured vaguely. "Gotta drag Prime in, and put the evidence before objective parties an' all."

The frown vanished, but not the dangerous light in Ratchet's eyes. "You're sure it's Prime."

"Just gotta prove it."

"Hm." He finally glared, without real anger, at the Intelligence Officer. "Can you?"

"Pffft, of course I can." Jazz did his best to look smooth and certain before those very, very keen optics.

"Alright." Ratchet offered his hand, and when Jazz shook it, clamped down on his grip just a bit. "Just make sure Prime is there."

Jazz sauntered out of the Med Bay. Halfway to the Armory he found an odd couple coming his way. "Bee." He grinned at them both. "How're the odds, Smokescreen?"

Smokescreen cocked a brow at him. "What odds? Against Prime? No such thing as those odds."

"What lack o' faith." Jazz winked at a snickering Bumblebee.

Smokescreen shrugged, unmoved. "Is Mirage involved in all this? Have you found him yet? It's getting… dull without him around. And he can probably judge better odds than I can in this matter", he added coyly.

"Yes and no. Sorry, he's in deep. Believe me, I want t' find him more than… well, probably more than any but one mech in the Ark."

"Oh?" They'd been about to move off, but at that both the other Autobots turned, the deceptively casual query coming from the larger one.

Jazz simply grinned at them and walked on towards Ironhide's de-facto office. If Smokescreen was going to be ungenerous with the odds, Jazz would slagging well be ungenerous with the hints. He pressed his lips together. Where in the name of every last and lowest smelting pit on Earth or Cybertron was Mirage? He needed the sniper, he was, Jazz was sure, the one inescapable piece of evidence for the Murder Mystery: an eyewitness. His steps carrying him forward automatically, he let his mind focus on the Matter of the Missing Mech. Say I'm Mirage, he thought. Say it's almost time for the morning shift, and I'm up early, gettin' ready for sentry duty. So I march myself to the Rec Room, siddown, relax for a bit of quiet and solitude. Gotta have those. Eventually Blue comes in and puts on that horrendously loud, horrendously colored thing he calls cartoons. What would Mirage have done?

He would have likely retreated further into the Rec Room and created his own solitude – a distinctly easy achievement when one could turn invisible.

Then Mister big-blue-red-and-white walks in. Anyone (heck, everyone) kind of instinctively looks up whenever a mech that size walks into a room, particularly Prime. Mirage had done so, at least long enough to be aware when the dispute over the remote had started. He would have watched, probably highly amused at his CO's mounting irritation and Blue's unexpected stubbornness. Likely, he thought Blue would give up, or Prime would do something. Jazz rather doubted Mirage would have expected what Prime had, in the end, done. He would have tried to leap away from the violence – and accidentally gotten hit by that big mean-lookin' thing, a small cannon, really. He would have known the game was up: Prime was not, by any stretch of reality, stupid.

If I'm Mirage, I now have a huge, smart, intelligent mech, one of the deadliest warriors alive anywhere in the ever-confusing universe trying to offline me so I won't blab about what I've seen. My only advantages are invisibility and a skill for wetworks. Against me, the fact that the hunter knows the hunting grounds like the proverbial back of his hand and probably grievous injuries - that thing was a small cannon.

"Evenin', Jazz."

Jazz didn't even hear Ironhide as the older mech came out of the Armory, rolling his neck and stretching his back. The Intelligence Officer's steps had slowed down as his thoughts wound down to the only, inevitable conclusion.

Where would I hide? Where my hunter least expected me to, of course.

"Jazz?" Ironhide cocked his head at the Intelligence Officer.

"Gottarun'hidethanks!" The Porsche suddenly sprinted past Ironhide and ran full out down the hallway and out of sight.

Ironhide blinked momentarily after him before shrugging. "Anytime", he replied to the empty hallway before turning away towards the Rec Room.

_'Sides!_

_You gotta stop doing that, Jazz._ Sideswipe sounded almost aggrieved – almost. _I swear this is the longest I've ever been on my best behavior and you keep barking my name like I switched Track's wax with egg yolks or something._

_And you say that like – never mind, I don't wanna know. Did ya get it?_

_Yeah. For such a big mech he's awfully hard to find, though._ Sideswipe dropped his voice. _Dunno if this is bad news, Jazz, but he's in the wash racks._

_Probably already fixed the scratches then. Can you still get the paint samples?_ Jazz turned a corner sharply, all but running on the wall for a moment to avoid losing momentum or his footing.

_Yeah, but not the kit. Prowl said we had enough proof that he'd been in the Rec Room, but not for malicious intent for Steeljaw, seeing as we can't even put him in the core room._

_Stay on him, take him to First Aid, and for all you're worth, 'Sides, delay the slagging Pit outta him._ Jazz skid to a more sedate pace when his audios told him someone was coming down the hallway he was sprinting through, and nodded politely to Groove and Beachcomber, waiting (just barely) until they were out of hearing range before breaking into a full run again. _Swoop, give him a hand._ Hurriedly he opened another line._ Grim! Prowl's, now_

_Me Grimlock going!_

_Delay him?_ Sideswipe sounded puzzled. _Just, what, keep him there? Until what?_

_Until I tell you not to._ Jazz skid to a halt at the door to Prowl's office. He could hear the incoming gallop of the Dinobot leader, and could only hope Grimlock would be there as soon as his tread announced him to be. _At which point you're gonna have to get him outta there pretty slaggin' quick._

_What are you doing? What's going on?_

_Nothin'._ Jazz let some smugness bleed into his tone._ Yet._ "Prowl."

Before he even looked up, the SIC let out a long, long sigh. With an expression of utmost resignation, he looked up. "Yes, Jazz."

"Mirage's been missin' for a little over twelve hours now… AWOL, ain't he?" He lifted a hand. "Within the context of the game", he paraphrased.

Prowl's lips twitched. "So he has."

" And since he works for me I'd like to spearhead the effort t' find him. And for that, I need a warrant."

"Another one?"

"To find Mirage."

Prowl frowned. "Just where are you looking for him that you feel it inappropriate to simply walk in?"

Jazz's 'predators-only-need-apply' smile threatened to split his cranium in half. "Prime's quarters."


	7. Chapter 7

The Commander of the Autobots, one of the most formidable warriors alive, bearer of the Matrix, and of late apparently bereft of his senses after having shot one of his youngest warriors over a matter of TV scheduling, Optimus Prime ducked his head under a fine cleansing spray, sighing for the umpteenth time at the fact that the washing racks of the Ark were just… well, small. Which he was not. He stared at one hand, then another, and chuckled very quietly. Had Jazz really expected to find anything in them? Did his officers think he miraculously expelled dirt and grit from his person, rather than taking a shower every day like a normal mech? He shook his head in wry amusement before stepping out onto the dryers.

He was absentmindedly wondering if any stretch of an emergency condition would allow him to schedule Wheeljack to retrofit the wash racks when he picked up the steps of someone on the nearby hallway. Automatically, battle-honed circuitry collected and collated information: light, but not too much so; a warrior's balance in every measured stride, and the determined spring of youth; a high-performance engine purring in near-perfect silence. When the door opened he was already stepping out of the dryers. "Can I help you, Sideswipe?"

The red Lamborghini leveled a very keen look on his CO from the door and waved desultorily. "Nah, it can wait."

Which probably means I shouldn't. Prime followed the retreating mech out of the room. "Go ahead."

Sideswipe lifted a data slate. "I've got a warrant."

Prime cocked his head minutely. "A w- Are you arresting me?"

For a moment, the young mech seemed about to say 'yes', and Prime realized Sideswipe really, really, really wanted him to think he would. He hid a smile behind his faceplate and crossed his arms calmly, patience personified. The Lamborghini blew a sigh. "Of course not. 'less you wanna admit you did it?"

"I admit to nothing, because I've done nothing I need to admit to." He put his hand out for the slate and read that it was, indeed, a warrant, allowing Jazz and his team to have their Examiner check on anyone who might have been at the Rec Room during the morning of the murder. "Paint samples?"

"Just a formality." Sideswipe shrugged casually.

"Aren't they all." Prime handed him back the slate. "Lead on." The two of them walked through the hallways drawing every optic in the Ark to them. The Examiner's Room was actually one of the outflow surgery rooms, used when the Ark had a much larger crew and more injured than the Med Bay could accommodate. First Aid and Swoop were waiting for them.

"Good evening, Prime"

"Aid." Prime nodded to the Protectobot, and then to Swoop. "Swoop."

_Optimus?_ A private line quietly quested for his attention as he sat on the medical berth.

_Yes, Prowl?_

_Jazz has offered me a… remarkably reasonable request for a second warrant, but I wished to clear this matter with you first._

Prime was only barely aware that First Aid and Swoop were both discussing how to go about getting a paint sample in the first place._ Go ahead._

_He wants to check your quarters._

_My quarters? _It didn't even occur to Optimus that Jazz might infringe on his privacy – he had eons of faith on his officers._ I don't believe any of us tampered with anything there, did we?_

_No. I never thought he'd… I didn't see a need._

Poor Prowl. Optimus smiled secretly again. Likely he would have won, against anyone else. But Jazz didn't think like most mechs did. He didn't think like any mech except his own showy self. _By all means, then. I trust you both._

"Swoop, stop complicating the issue or so help me I'll throw you out." First Aid had apparently lost his patience with whatever argument had gone on between him and the Dinobot.

"Me Swoop just think it important to preserve paint sample." Swoop shrugged. "You First Aid ex-am-iner, though. Me Swoop just watching."

And delaying, Optimus thought. He waited until First Aid had taken samples of his three primary colors. "Are we done?"

Before First Aid could answer Swoop moved closer to his CO. "You Prime ok? It very difficult, no?"

"It is a terrible tragedy, yes, Swoop, thank you. But I'm fine."

"You Prime sure? Maybe quick check?" He gestured to one of the monitors.

"I'm fine, Swoop, really."

"Y'know, Aid, you could offer to at least help him restock his kit. Never hurts to be prepared." Sideswipe said smoothly from the door.

Prime leveled his eyes on the red Lamborghini, his tone a subtle tease as he replied, "How nice to hear a sensible idea from you, Sideswipe. For once."

----------

Jazz paused at the door to his CO's quarters, fighting back an unaccountable wave of nervousness. His eyes fell on the largest of his companions. "I bet you'd never thought you'd hear this, Grim, but I'd love t' have two of you right about now." The Intelligence Officer gave his police rep a wry grin and rubbed at his neck.

The Dinobot did indeed look startled – most of the time the Autobots had trouble coping with just one of him. He caught on, however. "You Jazz need someone with him Prime, and someone here."

Jazz sighed. "What do you think?"

Grimlock shifted, vaguely nervous. He was very much aware that Prime, by the rules of their game, had already killed two mechs, and he suddenly understood that Jazz was very much afraid there might soon be a third if Grimlock happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. In the end he could only think of one reply. "Me Grimlock better stay near him Prime", he rumbled.

"You do that." Jazz turned to match optics with one of the other two mechs. "Which means it's just you an' me, Trail. You ready for this?"

"Are you sure it's ok?" Trailbreaker looked decidedly uneasy.

In response, Jazz nodded towards their third companion. Prowl shrugged lightly. "You have a warrant, don't you? I will wait out here." He stepped forward and entered a code into the lock. The door hissed pleasantly open and the SIC stepped aside to let them through.

Jazz waited until the lights had brightened the empty room. It was larger than his but, surprisingly, not by much. There were several shelves full of slates and printed books sized for a Autobot's hands, a recharge bunk and yet another desk partially covered in half-finished reports, blueprints and plans: apparently sleep really was optional for Prime. Jazz wondered what Ratchet would pay for that information with a crooked grin: when the CMO sent you to your room, it was to rest, not to play truant to his instructions. There was a large print, human style, behind the desk, with Martin Niemoller's poem writ on large, bold letters under the heading 'Indifference is the greatest enemy'.

"Jazz?", Trailbreaker whispered. "What are we looking for?"

Jazz pressed his lips together for a moment before speaking very softly. "Trail, block the door, will ya? And I mean so that even Megatron can't make it through."

The SUV gave him a puzzled look but obeyed, shaping his force-field so as to blockade the door.

Jazz faced the empty room. "You've got less than a minute, Mirage. Your call."

Trailbreaker started at that, and let out a quiet, disjointed little sound of shock when a corner of the seemingly empty room suddenly blurred and shifted, revealing the tall, elegant frame of the sniper. Mirage leveled a half-glare, half-smirk on the Porsche. "What took you so long?"

"You!" Jazz waved a finger at him. "You have no idea what my day's been like, so shush!" He stared keenly at the Ligier. "That is not Hound's."

"No." Mirage gestured to the nasty gash marring his chest, surrounded by blackened metal and charred paint. "We weren't sure Hound could stay around me without giving away my position, so Sunstreaker made it out of some pewter and latex human thing." He gestured Jazz forward. "You have a problem."

"Just one?" Jazz approached.

"Just the one." Mirage smiled at him and, without further warning, dropped like a dead weight; Jazz barely caught him before he fell to the floor.

"Trail!" Between the two of them they managed to get the Ligier upright. _'Sides, hard and fast and anywhere but his quarters._

_Oh, good, 'cause he left already._ His tone turned gleeful. _You want I should -?_

_No!_

_But I didn't even say anything,_ Sideswipe complained.

_Just no!_ "For the love o' lil' mechs, why isn't it ever easy?" Jazz muttered as he and Trail carried Mirage out of Prime's room, much to Prowl's surprise. "What?"

Prowl stepped back. "Nothing. That's… a very clever idea, Mirage."

"Thank you", the presumably unconscious sniper replied without moving.

"Where to, Jazz?" Trailbreaker looked anxiously around.

"First Aid's, road less traveled. Put a field behind us, just in case." _Grim, tell me, please tell me, that you're with Prime._

_Him Prime with him Wheeljack. Still can't open him Red Alert's door. You Jazz want me Grimlock –_

_NO! Why is everyone asking this?!_ "This way." Jazz quickly came up with a route through the hallways that would take him to the Examiner's Room with as few interruptions as possible – not that it mattered. He doubted Red would be out in time to cover his shift, which meant Prime would be covering the night shift. Which meant he'd see in the security logs how Mirage was ever so hurriedly dragged away and into very unlikely safety –

He dragged in a few deep breaths before opening a private line. _Ratchet, how much d' you want t' get Prime?_

_That depends on how much trouble you're in,_ came the caustic, immediate reply.

_I've got an eyewitness. With evidence plastered all over his torso. Of course, I don't need t' tell you what'll happen if Prime gets hold o' him._

There was silence on the line. _Why? Why would I let you do this to me?_

_Because you love me?_

_I'm calling Optimus._

_Because I'll owe you forever an' ever and I have a bit of info on Prime I'm sure you'd love to know before you have to ship him off to his room for some enforced rest?_

_It better be one helluva good bit of info. Fine. Bring him over. And First Aid and Swoop better be here before you are, or so help me, I'll sell you for spare parts to the Decepticons, if they'll even buy you._

_Yessir._ Jazz switched lines again. _Swoop, Med Bay, please._

_Med Bay?, _Sideswipe stuttered.

"Did I hear you right?" Trailbreaker stared at him, aghast.

_You Jazz sure?,_ even Swoop sounded decidedly uncertain.

_I'll put it this way, guys. Can you think of anyone else who can stand Prime down?_ He let them digest that in silence. _Swoop, bring First Aid with ya. And run._

----------

In the end, even Mirage balked, wary of showing up in Med Bay with a wound, even if it wasn't a real one. It wasn't until he was sitting on one of the repair berths with Ratchet not murdering, not berating, and otherwise demonstrating merely curiosity over the gaping hole, that he began to relax.

"This is really well done." Ratchet examined the 'wound' from every angle. "Even the shredding is done right, though I guess if anyone would know it'd be that yellow pain in the aft. Scarring, scoring, shredding… you can even tell the direction it came from." He shook his head and unceremoniously ripped the fake wound off of Mirage's chest.

"OUCH!"

"Better that than the real thing." Ratchet told him sharply before turning to Jazz. "You want this?" He brandished the 'wound', handing it over when Jazz nodded before turning to his 'patient'. "Get yourself to the surgery berth."

"So… professional opinion, Ratch?" Jazz watched Mirage go for a long moment.

The CMO considered. "Aid."

"Yes, sir?"

"What do you have?"

"Well… Prowl gave me the information I should give Jazz if he found Mirage…" The Protectobot looked uncertainly at his mentor, seeming to draw courage from an encouraging nod. "Wounds like that take a while to repair, because it's not just the frame that's affected."

"Glad someone's noticed that", Ratchet growled.

First Aid went on. "You have to do internal repairs, restore fluids. It can involve some major dismantling and part replacement, and then there's circuitry checkups, stress testing for lines and servos…"

Jazz looked at his feet before turning to Ratchet. "We're talkin' hours here, ain't we."

"Provided Prowl's script doesn't call for your eyewitness to die. In which case me and him and my welder need to have words about the abilities of my staff." Aid and Swoop stood up a bit straighter at that. "But yes, we are. A couple for the frame, anywhere between four and six for internals."

Jazz felt his team's optics on him as he considered that. He felt his instincts leap forward and looked back at them. Smiling. "We're ahead o' the clock. That'd be eight hours, give or take. I bet you… I bet you all Prowl was gonna give us Mirage on the sixteenth hour."

"He was gonna give you Mirage?" Ratchet stared at him in disbelief.

"Show always have two big clues", Swoop piped in, and started chortling. "We winning!"

"Well, until then, your eyewitness is offline, and you're loitering in my Med Bay. Not YOU!", he thundered, pointing a finger at Jazz. "You have something to tell me, I believe." He smiled toothily.

" 'Sides, go talk to Ironhide and Wheeljack, see if they'd like to pull jury duty." Jazz noticed the Lamborghini was already inching towards the door and he turned to Ratchet. "Can Trailbreaker stay with Mirage? Just… y'know, in case?"

"In case of what?", Ratchet asked, ever so mildly.

"Nuthin'." Jazz ducked his head and followed the CMO meekly into the office.

"Then sure, he can stay. Aid, set up a berth for Trail, please?"

"Sure, boss."

"Swoop, I want a full report on the standard procedure for dealing with wounds like Mirage's. We are going to keep ourselves properly busy."

----------

_Jazz?_

The Porsche batted at his audios. He felt stiff all over, he wasn't sure why his bunk felt so damned uncomfortable that night of all nights, when he was absolutely exhausted and now, to top it all off, his CPU was buzzing.

_I'm really terribly sorry to disturb you, Jazz, but you insisted. Jazz!_

He lifted his head with a groan, vaguely registering the unfamiliar outlines of… "This'n't mah room."

_Jazz, will you answer Percy before he wakes up all up?_ Sideswipe demanded drowsily on the line.

_I'm still awake,_ Trailbreaker put in.

_Hurray for you,_ the red Lamborghini snapped sleepily at him.

_Sorry, Percy… what?_ Jazz shook his head furiously, trying to clear it. Office. Desk. My office. My desk. FRAGGIT! _What time – Trail, is Mirage awake?_

_No, Ratchet says within the hour,_ the SUV reassured him. _It's Ok, Jazz, I'm on watch._

_And you can't imagine how glad I am, Trail. Percy, what's up? I thought you'd forgotten about us._

_I would not -!_

_I'm teasing, Percy._ Jazz stood up, stretching to try to unkink his back after falling asleep at his desk… It had looked so inviting.

It still did.

_I have finished my analysis of the remote._

No one spoke until Sideswipe finally snapped, _Well, c'mon, Percy, don't leave us in suspense._

_Well, I wanted confirmation that Jazz was ready to receive my report, as well as information on whether it is secure to do so –_

_Percy._ Jazz rubbed at his forehead. _Gimmie._

_Well, there are multiple samples of paint on the remote, as one would expect of an article that sees so much use. However, there were also paint samples on the inner surfaces, and of particular interest were the edges of the broken casing and multiple shattered circuit boards. I have matched them to the samples Swoop brought in this past evening._

Jazz, who'd gone back to his desk, though this time he was once again leaning back on his chair, came back to a normal position with a resounding thump when Perceptor's words actually registered. _Wait, Percy, you got a match?_

_That's what I just informed you of._ The scientist sounded somewhat irked. _Were you even listening?_

Another deep silence. _Holy slag._ Sideswipe, too, sounded fully and incredulously awake all at once. _Did Percy just crack the case?_

_Honestly, if you thought this – wait, what? _Perceptor was left bereft of words for a few seconds, truly a momentous occasion surpassed only by his next words, which were short, concise and to the point. _I did?_

_Wait, wait._ Jazz tried to control a surge of glee. _Percy? Which colors did you match?_

_Only the blue, but –_

_How many mechs in the Ark carry those colors?_

_There's only two Autobots currently carrying this particular shad –_

_Prime one of them? _Jazz could only hope whoever the other unfortunate mech was, he had a titanium alibi.

_Yes, b-_

_Jazz?_ Trailbreaker sounded awfully sorry at breaking into the conversation, his voice very quiet – and very nervous.

_Something wrong, Trail?_

_It's Prime. He's here._


	8. Chapter 8

More than sight or sound, a sense of displaced air told Ratchet he had a visitor. He straightened up and set his cards down -a lousy pair of twos with a bum Jack- and leaned very far back on his chair, making the springs squeak. It was a trick he'd perfected and which allowed his head to peer into the Med Bay without leaving his office. He cocked a brow and a slow, wicked grin began to inch itself onto his face: his prey had at last come calling.

He watched in silence as his CO moved into the Med Bay, steps quieter than usual, head turning this way and that as the big Mack truck scanned the medical berths. That Prime bore no visible weapons fazed Ratchet not a bit; for all intents and purposes Prime was strong enough to merely pick up any one of his soldiers and rend them apart, but the CMO imagined Prime would show some respect to him, if not his 'victim', and would try to be somewhat subtler.

If he got the chance.

"PRIME!" Unfortunately the big mech was self-controlled enough that Ratchet, sadly, didn't get to see him jump out of his armor. He did spin around with surprising alacrity, though, and Ratchet leveled that smug, knowing smirk on him. "Help you with something?"

"You're up very early, Ratchet."

The CMO snorted. "Haven't gone to my bunk yet. I was making sure Mirage was alright."

"I heard he'd been found." Prime's optics twinkled; message received, message understood, Ratchet thought. Now we both know we're in on this. "I wanted to see him."

"Well, he's still offline." One hand, out of sight, gestured to one of the other poker players in the table, and Mirage sighed, put down his cards and vanished from sight. Trailbreaker, third of the players (and the one with the largest pile of chits) looked suddenly anxious. The last of the group simply leaned an elbow against the table and cradled his chin in his hand, by all lights more than content to eavesdrop. "Got himself shot, somehow, despite being inside the Ark at the time." Ratchet stood up to walk up to his CO. "If you want to talk to him about it, get in line. Behind me."

Prime gestured peaceably. "Will he be alright?"

"Oh, yes. He should even be coming back online before long." Ratchet leaned back against a berth. "Wheeljack still working on Red's door?"

"No. I sent him to get some rest, and let Red try to do the same."

"Fat chance of that." Ratchet threw him a mild look. "What about you? You've been running steady for what, nearly twenty-four hours?"

"I'll be fine. Once Red's shift is done, I'll go to my quarters, you have my word."

"I don't doubt you will." Ratchet's tone was utterly amicable to that. Prime shifted – minutely, almost invisibly, but the reaction was there for the medic's keen optics to catch. "Should I send Mirage your way when he's well enough for it?"

"I was hoping to see him. I've been… worried about him."

I just bet you have, Ratchet thought, biting back a smirk. "He's offline, Optimus. No one's seeing him but me, and no one's talking to him, not even Jazz, until I say they can." He crossed his arms and stared belligerently up at his CO.

Waiting.

Prime stared keenly down at him.

"Runnin' th' rounds, Optimus?" The truck's head snapped up at that slow, amused drawl. Ironhide had given up on the verbal tennis between the two senior officers and was leaning against the doorway to Ratchet's office, his cards still in his hands. "You had t' come by when I had th' only good hand o' th' night", he mourned mockingly.

Prime's head fell sideways a slight inch, and they both knew what was going through his CPU. Ratchet, alone, while certainly an experienced fighter, was no match for Prime. Ratchet and Ironhide – that was a cube of a whole different grade; the chances of taking them both, unnoticed, without an alarm going up… No, they were not good enough. The Autobot Commander considered for a moment – and started laughing quietly. "What did he offer?"

"Jury duty", Ironhide replied with a lazy, crooked grin.

"I don't know if I'm insulted or complimented." He gave them both a wry look. "I have better go on with my rounds then."

"You do that." Ratchet watched as Ironhide threw a jaunty salute at their CO, and waited until the Mack truck had just about made his escape. "One thing, though."

"Yes?" Prime turned at the door.

"If I come by with Mirage tomorrow and that desk is still in your quarters, I will crack you open and reassemble you around it."

Optimus Prime, Commander of the Autobots, bearer of the Matrix, warrior extraordinaire, flinched. Unmistakably.

"Just so as we're clear. Which we are, right?" Ratchet's glare told him it was not really a question.

Prime considered his options and found them even less likely than the ones for taking out Mirage. This, he grumbled to himself, has Jazz's tracks all over it. I'm going to shake that Porsche by his neck until bolts fall out. But while he still had a chance of surviving the game's deadline, his CPU could find not one way around the CMO. He offered the only answer he could with a resigned sigh. "Perfectly clear, Ratchet. Have a good night."

As the door closed behind their CO, Ironhide started chuckling helplessly. "That was mean, Ratch. Fun, though."

"Ain't it?" Ratchet rubbed his hands gleefully, returning to the table. He glanced at his comm. station, his optics caught by the blinking light of a message, and he tapped at it before smiling at the reappearing Mirage. "Well, word from Prowl: consider yourself online and berated like the blown-circuit idiot you are for getting shot."

"I was an innocent bystander!", Mirage protested.

"There's not a one of you that qualifies as innocent." Ratchet snorted disdainfully before turning to Trailbreaker. "And if you call that little black-and-white nuisance down here before I've made it official –and we've finished this hand- you'll live to regret it, Trail."

"Yessir", the SUV replied meekly, and hid his face behind his cards.

----------

Jazz drew a deep breath and looked –or rather, glared- at his surroundings. No Prime anywhere, no ambush, no menace lurking in the hallways leading to the Med Bay. He took some comfort in the fact that Sideswipe next to him looked just as tense – although on the red Lamborghini's part it was more of a glee-filled expectation. "Now he's got us jumping at shadows. Sheesh."

They stepped into Med Bay. Ratchet's head appeared on the doorway to his office. "Oh, look who's here", he greeted with acerbic cheer. "What'd you do, take the scenic route?"

Jazz walked up to the office. "Have some pity on recharge-deprived mechs, Ratch."

"My mercy, like my patience, is nonexistent." The CMO's tone was sepulchral. "Particularly when I've been up all night and lost too many hands of poker."

"C'n I have my witness, please?"

"This is gratitude for you nowadays." Ratchet straightened up, vanishing from sight. "Come on in."

Jazz stepped into the office and blinked in amusement at Ironhide, who grinned as he shuffled the deck. "Is every Senior Officer but Prowl in on this now?"

"Prowl started it. Don't excuse him." Ratchet gestured to a chair as he passed a number of chits to both him and Sideswipe. "Siddown, you two."

_Jazz? Me Swoop have him Perceptor's report. Me Swoop and him Grimlock go to Security Room now to see him Prowl._

_We'll meet you there as soon as we can, Swoop._ Jazz picked up his cards and peered at them: a near straight, King, Queen, Jack and two nines. Sideswipe barely lifted his cards from the table where they'd fallen before returning his optics to the table.

Mirage carefully piled his cards neatly before him after peering quickly at them. He had something, Jazz thought, but who knew what. "How you feelin', 'raj?"

"Like someone tore strips off of my paint job." He looked in mixed amusement and dejection at the CMO, who was staring at his cards as if trying to wring the secrets of the universe from them. He only got a grunt in response. "But I'm told I'll live."

"Thank goodness for small mercies." Jazz watched as Ironhide finished dealing and slipped the Queen and Jack out of his hand, passing them over. "And expert medics." He let the new cards sit unseen before him.

"Thank you." Ratchet discarded twice, snorting at his new cards. Then again, he always did.

"You remember anything of how it happened?" Jazz watched Sideswipe and Trailbreaker discard once.

All optics came to rest on Mirage. With precise calm, the Ligier slipped the top card off his hand and discarded it. "One, please", he told Ironhide politely. "I went to the Rec Room, I remember that."

"You were scheduled for patrol duty."

"So I was." The bets moved around the table again. Mirage considered his face-down cards with a tapping finger. "I remember being up earlier than usual and… Blue came into the Rec Room. He came in and turned on the TV…" He tapped his cheek in mock thoughtfulness. "Hm. I moved to the back, I don't think he'd seen me. I didn't much care for his viewing choice." Leveling a calm, amused look on the Porsche, he drawled, "I guess neither did Prime."

Sideswipe grinned triumphantly. Jazz calmly reached over with two fingers and threw in enough chits to check. "So it was Prime."

"It was Prime", Mirage nodded. "He seemed… upset that Blue didn't want to switch to some less strident viewing."

Checks were called around the table. Ratchet threw in a low bet. Jazz considered his chits. "All in. Go on."

"They got into a bit of an argument. I thought Blue would simply…" The sniper shrugged delicately. "Give up. It was Prime."

"Too rich for my fuel." Sideswipe folded with a smirk. Trailbreaker seemed fascinated by the fact that Jazz had yet to even look at his cards. He folded without a word.

Mirage looked up with an elegantly arched brow at the Intelligence Officer. "I was amused. It was startling, to see those two arguing. I thought it was… funny. Until Prime drew his gun."

"Did he actually -?", Sideswipe stared at Mirage.

"Oh, yes." Mirage shook his head and laughed softly. "Shut us both up, I'll admit. And Hound's optics – bigger than Prime's hubcaps. He got there just in time to see the whole masquerade go down, but Prowl had said he was strictly off-limits. Then Prime said something to Blue, I would guess reminding him of the Murder Mystery. The rest, I'm sure you know." His eyes opened wide in mock innocence. "Is Bluestreak Ok?"

"Not much, no." Jazz stared calmly at him. "You in?"

There was a long silence between them. "Are you going to look at your cards?"

"In due time."

Mirage considered Jazz's cards more intently than his own. "I'll see you."

"I'm out." Ironhide flicked his cards away.

"I hate you both." Ratchet threw his hand down on the table without much venom and a tired sigh.

Mirage flipped his cards over with a flourish. "Diamond flush. Now will you look at your cards?"

Jazz slipped a finger under the new cards, cupping his hand over them. He smiled and flipped them, the King and nine of spades. "Prime, then. In the Rec Room." With another flourish he slid the rest of his hand over them.

Mirage smiled. "With his rifle."

Jazz leaned back. "I think we can go talk t' Prowl now about that last warrant." He started chuckling as he stood up. "Whaddaya know, Tracks was right to begin with. It was the big guy."

----------

Prowl looked over his shoulder as the door to the Security Room hissed open, and saw Jazz pause and scan the room. "Where's Prime?"

Prowl returned his attention to the screens. "Walking patrol." He pointed to one of the cameras, in which their CO was shown checking the cargo bay doors. Behind the Intelligence Officer, Grimlock and Swoop stepped into the Security Room. The Porsche nodded and gave Prowl a triumphant look. Prowl, not even turning to acknowledge it, replied before Jazz could use the breath he'd just drawn. "You have not won until your 'Jury' determines him guilty."

"Guess I'm halfway there, then." At that Prowl did turn, the smugness in Jazz' tone unmistakable. "'Cause Wheeljack's on his way t' meet 'hide and Ratchet down at the Med Bay. And I need a warrant for Prime's arrest."

"On what grounds?" The SIC swiveled completely so as to face the Intelligence Officer.

"One, I got evidence that he got into an argument with Bluestreak in the Rec Room – 'less you don't think Percy's a reliable source." He offered the data slate with Perceptor's report. "And two, I've gottan eyewitness."

Prowl read, ever so carefully, the data slate. Jazz tried to avoid twitching with impatience, even though behind him he could feel the hyperbolic need for action radiating from the Dinobot leader like dry heat. With a sigh, the SIC drew from his subspace a data slate and handed it over. "Here you go."

"How long have you had this ready?" Jazz was startled.

"From the beginning, of course." Prowl turned back to the screens where Prime (or his feet, at least) was visible as he spoke with Cliffjumper. "Unlike some people, I believe in the usefulness of due process and preparation."

Jazz opened his mouth – and closed it without saying anything. Prowl threw him a surprised look before returning his attention to the screens. "We'd have had him by now, y'know", he said softly at last, leaning over Prowl's seat.

"Perhaps. But a real criminal doesn't merely hold still while some fantasy characters follow his trail."

The Intelligence Officer chuckled. "Oh, he surprised you, admit it."

Prowl was silent. "Are you taunting me, Jazz?"

The tone was familiar, and when the Porsche placed the memory he couldn't help but grin. "Primus forbid."

_Jazz, Trail an' I're gonna go grab a quick pick-me-up at the Rec Room, we'll be right back,_ Sideswipe called in.

_You got the minutes, but not the hour._ Jazz saw Cliffjumper move on, and Prime's feet walk out of sight. He controlled a sudden surge of nervousness – where could the big galoot disappear to, anyways? There were less than three hours left.

_Gotcha,_ Sideswipe replied.

Seconds ticked by, feeling more like hours to Jazz. Grimlock shuffled impatiently behind him: the Dinobots had taken position by the sides of the door. Prime flashed suddenly into sight, checking the door to the Security Supply Waypoint, where incoming parcels and deliveries were inspected, and walked away again. "What is he doin', checkin' every cupboard in the Ark?"

"That's what Red usually does." Prowl's voice was very calm. "You could always go intercept him."

Jazz had considered that possibility, but there were too many variables. He rather liked the thought of having Prime contained within a single room, because he had a gut feeling that his CO was not going to give up without a fight. He tapped his fingers nervously against the back of Prowl's chair and received a mildly amused look, tried to stop himself and found he was doing it again without much conscious thought. He finally went to lean against the wall next to Swoop. "Ark bigger than me Swoop think", the Dinobot said softly, smiling.

"You an' me both, buddy." Jazz crossed his arms. He felt twitchy, twitchy and couldn't help it.

When Hot Spot walked into the Security Room, all three of them nearly jumped out of their armor, and the Protectobot nearly did so in response. "Uh, good morning, Jazz, Grimlock, Swoop." He stared at them cautiously as he walked up to a station and began typing.

Jazz felt his twitchiness turn into something big and burning inside him even before Hot Spot sat down. At that point Prowl turned to the Protectobot leader. "Can I help you, Hot Spot?"

He got another surprised look. "Uh… no. Prime called me, he asked me if I could cover him. I thought… I figured he'd mentioned it."

"Swoop!", Jazz yelled as he charged out of the room, Grimlock behind him with an angry snarl. The Dinobot nimbly beat them both to the punch and was already in his Pteranodon form as he stepped through the door, taking off with a shower of sparks as one of his wingtips cut against the hallway wall. "Slagslagslagslag!" _'Sides, outside! He's makin' a run for it!_

To his credit, now that his hopes and dreams had finally come true, Sideswipe didn't cheer, didn't gloat and didn't waste a single second. He'd been sitting in the Rec Room with Trailbreaker chatting about the case and the fun, and he literally moved before Jazz had finished speaking, leaping over the table and sprinting full tilt down the hallway towards the exit of the cave that housed the Ark. He nearly ran Cliffjumper down, not that he even noticed. He couldn't have moved any faster if a wrench-wielding CMO had been chasing him.

_Me Swoop see him! Down by west slope of access road!_

_If he gets into the canyons, we won't find him until he wants to be found!,_ Trailbreaker warned them, knowing the area as only someone made for braving it could, racing towards the outside as well but fast outdistanced by Sideswipe.

The red Lamborghini skid to a halt before the Ark, twisting in the direction Swoop had pointed and racing through the tangled, low underbrush, slipping into the freshly crushed trail of his quarry. He heard one of the sentries call for him but left Jazz to clear up any misunderstandings – he was too close, much too close. A slope caught him by surprise and he half slid, half tumbled down it into the first gully, in time to see a flash of white and red disappear into the brambles. With the kind of glee only the warrior-born can possibly muster, he landed and leapt forward in the same, seamless motion, fast and sleek and deadly. It didn't even occur to him that Prime could possibly be faster.

Which he was.

The Autobot leader turned before the Lamborghini could even register the motion; a huge blue hand caught Sideswipe by the throat, spun him over a massive shoulder and slammed him into the ground, not hard enough to damage, but hard enough to rattle. A moment later, before Sideswipe could catch up to the events just unfolding around him, he felt a huge weight descend on him – Prime had knelt over him, one knee pressed over his chest, one hand in a vise around his throat. He was pinned. "Sideswipe." Optimus Prime asked in a very quiet, very amused tone as he brought a closed fist to touch the Lamborghini's face, counting the coup. "Do I look like a jet?"

A huge tremor went through the ground and, perforce, Sideswipe's back. He grinned up at Prime. "Do I look like a cop?"

Prime felt the next impact and looked around to try and pinpoint the source. It became obvious, much too late, as a vast shadow blocking the light of the moon and the huge, gleeful roar of a primeval predator. By the time Prime looked up Grimlock, in his multiton T-Rex form, had leapt in the air and was bearing down on the Mack truck like the world's deadliest cannonball. The impact was absolutely phenomenal. The tangle of mechs actually sank into the ground as the Dinobot leader bowled Prime off his feet and directly on top of Sideswipe, whose squawk of protest was buried under too many tons of metal and inertial force. Grimlock swept his tail over and coiled it against the ground to give himself further leverage before planting three of his four limbs on the chest of the reeling Autobot CO. "You Prime under arrest!", he brawled happily.

"Fine!" Sideswipe wheezed from under them both. "You got him! Now gerroff me!"

Jazz skid down the slope with a wild whoop of victory, planted a hand on Grimlock's rump and leapt onto the Dinobot's back to sit, cross-legged, upon it before peering down at his CO with a huge, crooked grin. "Goin' somewhere, Prime?"

And that's when the alarms went off.

All four of them went perfectly still, heads turned in the direction of the Ark. Above them, Swoop shrieked a counterpoint. "That Decepticon alarm", the Dinobot leader rumbled. Jazz slid off Grimlock, who transformed, spun and offered a hand to Prime.

"It is." Prime gripped the Dinobot's leader hand and moved smoothly to his feet, reached down and all but peeled Sideswipe off the impact crater, not that the Lamborghini seemed to notice anymore; the four of them scrambled up the slope and ran back to the Ark. Lights were coming back online throughout the vast hallways, and inside their downed ship the voices of those roused from sound recharge were beginning to echo back and forth as they demanded an explanation.

Prowl's very calm voice was giving commands over the open lines. "- combiner leaders, deploy for immediate protection of the surrounding area. All available personnel, proceed with extreme caution –"

Hot Spot nearly ran himself into Grimlock as he bolted down the hallway; while the Protectobot leader normally looked tense whenever he led his group into battle, at the moment they were surprised to see a very angry fire burning in his optics. "Can you believe this?!", he pointed an accusing finger at some intangible target. "They couldn't have waited a couple more hours?!"

Blades and Groove came charging down the hallway, skidding to a halt as they saw their leader. "Is this a drill?", Blades asked, his tone, impossibly, begging Hot Spot to say 'yes'.

"MOVE OUT!", the fire engine roared at them, making them both wince.

"Oh, man." Blades threw the small group of Jazz, Prime, Grimlock and Sideswipe a mournful look before racing after Hot Spot.

Jazz couldn't hold back an incredulous chuckle even as they all turned to run towards the Security Room, listening as Prowl called assignments and received confirmations. On the open line, Silverbolt's voice suddenly asked what seemed to be a common question. "Prowl, is this a drill?"

"No", the SIC replied. "We have a confirmed Decepticon force, the frontline of which is currently engaged with local defense forces, in the area of the St. Lucie Nuclear Power Plant in Florida. Deploy as instructed. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill."

"Now?" The voice was Air Raid's, off the open line and full of indignation as the Aerialbots came within sight, running towards the entrance. "But –"

There were very grim promises to any Decepticon in the gleam of the usually mild-tempered Silverbolt's optics as he charged forward and commanded his somewhat unruly charges with unusual curtness. "Fly." Suddenly, all the Aerialbots looked just as disgruntled and just as eager for someone to take their crabbiness out on.

Sideswipe paused when he heard his name called on the open line, as well as that of his twin – and suddenly they all understood. "Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, prepare for first-strike deployment –"

"But –" Sideswipe stared in shock from Jazz to Prime. "But –"

Somewhere ahead of them someone cursed with a viciousness usually reserved for one's lifetime nemesis, a fist slamming hard against the metal walls. Sunstreaker came stalking down towards them, his optics all but smoldering. "I don't believe this", he seethed. "After all that work!" The twins turned away and only belatedly Sunstreaker thought to ask as he took in his twin's somewhat worse-for-wear looks, "What happened to you?"

"Us Dinobots go in point too." The Dinobot leader rumbled, head low and hands working, and while his words were no more curt than usual it was obvious he, too, was not a happy mech.

Jazz and Prime raced onwards and this time did collide with someone – namely Red Alert. "Red?!" Jazz stared at him as Prime reached out to steady the Security Chief. "How'd you get out?"

"The lock started working again the moment the alarm went off." Red Alert was his usual, paradoxical self – paranoid in times of peace, perfectly calm within the whirlwind of activity that was the Ark as it disgorged the Autobots towards another fight, another uncertainty. "I need to go replace Prowl so he can take to the field."

Jazz and Prime followed him, the first throwing the second a glare. "You are so slaggin' lucky."

"Maybe." Prime threw the Porsche a wry look. "But from the look of things, I don't think the Decepticons are."

There followed the rush of information, planning, counter-planning and deployment. And yet, what Jazz most remembered from that time of quick decisions on how and where to strike was not any of the rush and hurry or the violence of the subsequent battle but a quick glimpse of Bluestreak as he raced off, his expression unusually annoyed, his words uncharacteristically quiet and irate, and yet making the Intelligence Officer smile despite the danger. "This is so not fair."


	9. Epilogue

"So is it me, or did we hand the 'cons their afts harder than we usually do?" Jazz leaned back on his chair, looking about the Main Briefing Room. He knew he was making an understatement: the Autobots had fallen on their enemies like the wrath of the proverbial gods.

"It would seem we were unusually fortunate, yes." Prowl was still going over the section reports.

"You think?" Ratchet came through the door and sat down with his own data slate, rolling his shoulders before leveling a look at the SIC. "When was the last time I joined you in one of these post-battle little chats?"

Prowl made a non-committal sound.

"Aw, you're just sore 'cuz you lost, Prowl." Jazz crossed his arms behind his head.

"I beg your pardon?" The black-and-white Datsun gave him a surprised glance. "By whose definition?"

"I dropped a T-Rex on him!", Jazz protested, letting his chair thump forward. "What more do you want?"

"I believe the terms of our agreement specified that you had to produce suspect and evidence within twenty-four hours -"

"We got called into battle!" Jazz stared at him in disbelief.

Prowl shrugged. "Crime, as I have pointed out before, is hardly ever convenient -"

"And I did too had the evidence –"

"You're the one who requested someone other than me as final judge -"

"Please." Prime set the data slate he was working on down and placed his hands on the table, his optics and his tone smiling at them. He could see Ratchet grinning as he watched the rapid-fire back-and-forth. It was a nice change, to have the CMO smiling, relaxed and not planning anyone's murder, in jest or otherwise. In fact, he'd had a pretty damn good last few days himself, Prime realized. Both his second and third officers stared at him. "May I suggest that you put the issue to an objective party?"

"You don't count", Jazz protested immediately, startling his CO.

"It's not logical at all to submit judgment to the criminal."

Prowl and Jazz stared at one another.

"Let me record this moment for posterity", Ratchet broke in. "August 27. Not only did we send Megatron and his baboons packing with minimal injuries to our forces, but Prowl and Jazz agreed on something."

"Why not Ratchet?", Prime gave the startled CMO a look. "He was not involved until the very end. How did you get involved?", he asked curiously.

"I bribed him", Jazz smirked impishly at his CO.

"With my desk", Prime suddenly realized, mock-glaring at the Porsche.

"Well, it shouldn't be where it's at to begin with." Ratchet's tone was tart. "Commanding Officer or not, your room is for resting!" He waved a finger at Prime.

"How did you figure out that Mirage was hiding in Optimus' quarters?", Prowl asked of Jazz suddenly.

"He was where?!" Prime started at that.

"Last place he'd go lookin'. I figured you'd have told him."

"Too much preplanning on my part would have kept the case from progressing along natural lines." Prowl shrugged. "I merely told him to keep Optimus from catching him. He did the rest."

"What, you left it all to chance?" Jazz stare at the SIC in consternation. "You?"

"You sound so surprised. Just because I had all the details in place does not mean that they all came together whenever convenient." Prowl set his data slate down and cocked his head at Jazz. "Blue knew that he was supposed to argue with Optimus, but do you realize how fortunate it was that he happened into the Rec Room with Mirage already there and Sunstreaker on patrol?"

"Why'd you want him on patrol?"

"So he could decoy Red Alert away from the cameras, of course." Prowl returned to his slate.

"Agh." Jazz rubbed at his forehead. "He's the one who reported the funky sensor, isn't he?"

"You should have asked Red that." A small smile graced the SIC's face. "Or Sideswipe."

"What about him?" Jazz stabbed his thumb towards his CO, who looked bemused at being spoken of, not at.

"I pretty much ran all the way down to the Rec Room when I got Prowl's signal – at least as fast as I could without making it obvious to the cameras." Prime leaned back. "I was waiting for it, but I didn't know when it was going to come. I don't think Hound did, either, did he?" He looked inquiringly at Prowl who shook his head.

"And that's another thing, how the Pit do you avoid the cameras like you do?" Jazz glared accusingly at his CO.

Prime simply cocked his head. "Practice. Lots of practice."

"Oh, now you think to get nervous around him." Ratchet threatened to throw his data slate at Jazz when he saw the Porsche's expression. "Now you think to be glad he's on our side."

"Well, I am", Jazz muttered. "You're a tough bad guy to beat."

Prime considered that for a moment. "Thank you?", he ventured with mock uncertainty.

"We could've gotten you with Red's logs, y'know."

"Of course I know, why do you think I locked them?" Prime stared at his senior officers over the slate – they were all gawking at him. "What?"

"You locked them?"

"I activated Red's protocol, yes. Who do you think authorized him to install it to begin with?"

Jazz made a rude sound at him. "And then you locked him in. How'd you that?"

"Ah…" Prime hesitated, throwing a quick look in Ratchet's direction. The CMO caught that, and his keen optics narrowed for a moment before his expression filled with surprise. He burst out laughing. "It seems someone has installed a small protocol within the mainframe to allow him to lock any one mech in his quarters for some… enforced recovery time. I merely activated the sub-routine for Red Alert's lock from my office and called Sunstreaker over to meet me by Red's door as a decoy."

The other two mechs stared at Ratchet in disbelief. The CMO looked completely unapologetic. "What? Would you rather I weld you to your bunks? Besides, it releases in an emergency."

They worked in companionable silence for a while before Jazz threw a data slate down with a clatter. "Well?", he asked pointedly of Ratchet.

"Well, what?" The CMO didn't even look up.

"Who wins?"

Ratchet seemed immersed in the slate. In truth, his thoughts were wondering down the same ways that Prime's already had: it had been nice to have those few days of peace and quiet, of not having to hammer dents out of the twins, not having to deal with the aftermath of a prank war, not having to cope with yet another consequence of putting together itchy young mechs and lack of entertainment. "I haven't decided yet", he announced portentously. "You could always…"

"What?" Jazz asked as Prowl finally lowered his slate to pay full attention to the damnably smug CMO.

"Try again?" Ratchet shrugged as if it were the most casual thing to suggest in the world.

Porsche and Datsun crossed a glance that quickly turned into a challenging glare. "Hmph." Prowl pointedly resumed his study of the slate, but they could all but hear his CPU whirring.

A brief silence followed in which Ratchet and Prime crossed a covert, hopeful look. Eventually, Jazz broke it. "Same odds?"

"As long as they're not open to interpretation this time." Prowl was unflappably calm. "Same rules?"

"Unless we get an attack. We get… six hours' reprieve if we do."

Prowl seemed to consider, optics still on the slate. "Agreed."

CMO and CO crossed a grin. Another long, amicable moment of quiet, only the data slates beeping as information was sifted, archived, logged, added. It was Prime who finally asked, his voice full of perplexity. "Why, in Primus' name, Bluestreak?"

Jazz and Ratchet started chortling. "That was Sunstreaker's idea", Prowl admitted. "It was his observation that most everyone in the Ark has wanted to kill Blue at some point."


End file.
